


The Dynamics of Infatuation

by AllTheseSquaresMakeACircle



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: (briefly) - Freeform, Alpha Derek, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Cuddling, Cuddling & Snuggling, Derek Hale Deserves Nice Things, Derek Hale Needs To Use His Words, Derek Hale is Bad at Feelings, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Good Alpha Derek Hale, Good Peter Hale, M/M, POV Derek Hale, POV Stiles Stilinski, Pack Dynamics, Pack Feels, Peter Hale is a Little Shit, Pock Bonding, Possessive Derek Hale, Scent Kink, Scent Marking, Servant Stiles, Slave Stiles Stilinski, Slow Build Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Tall Stiles
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-20
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:13:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 30,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27116621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AllTheseSquaresMakeACircle/pseuds/AllTheseSquaresMakeACircle
Summary: Stiles was slave. Then he wasn't. Ever since then, he's been stuck with the royal family. And if was being honest with himself, he did not entirely mind it.
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Isaac Lahey/Scott McCall, Lydia Martin/Jackson Whittemore, Melissa McCall/Sheriff Stilinski, Vernon Boyd/Erica Reyes
Comments: 76
Kudos: 402
Collections: Rainy Day Reads, Sterek Goodness





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> COVID is still real, and it's robbed me of most of my social life. So, given that, I decided to write more Sterek. Another royalty AU, and angsty Derek, and bumbling, but charming Stiles.

Stiles was cold. It was oddly chilly. Being this far into spring. But the sun had yet to rise this morning. And there was a lingering bitterness in the air. It seeped through his skin, right down to his bones. The meager tunic and trousers he had been afforded did little to stifle the ripple that crept down his spine.

The auction would start in a few hours. Well, it would start for the slaves of any real value. He wasn’t worth all that much. As far as looks went, he was average. At least, that’s what he was told. He had certainly never seen himself in a mirror. Or even been in the relative proximity to one. They were treasured, valuable things.

Of the few advantages he had, was that he was literate. Unusual for a slave. But not all that desired. Just because he could read and write did not mean he was suddenly going up in price. So far, he had been sold twice in his life. Once when he was thirteen to a stable master. He was a wealthy man. Making his fortune one the finest steeds in the kingdom.

The next time was when he was sixteen. The woman who purchased him was…strange. She never seemed all that there. And often looked at Stiles with a sense of longing. The most peculiar part was that she always ordered him to be without a tunic in her presence.

It was a strange thing, being half naked in front of a woman. She never touched him, or ordered him into her bed. Only looking at him with those distant eyes. When she died, her sons had sold him a third time. At least this slave trader afforded Stiles decent clothing. He had not always been that lucky.

When the first kiss of pink touches the edges of the sky, Stiles doesn’t bother waiting. He’s on his feet before the traders even enter. They were being taken to the river to wash. Dirty slaves didn’t attract anyone’s attention. Certainly not smelly ones.

He is given a miniscule sliver of soap with which to wash himself with. Thankfully, his hair had been cut the day before, so the paltry amount got the job done. When he’s finished, one of the keepers wrangles him away. Dressing him in a slightly nicer tunic than what he had on earlier. Even though he was still a slave, at least these traders treated him with some manner of decency.

When the appointed hour arrives, Stiles is made to stand in line with the more plain choices. He keeps his eyes on the ground. People walk by him. No one says anything to him. Only making small noises in the back of their throats.

In the distance, he can hear the auction taking place. The most valuable slaves were placed on a podium. Showed off and twirled around like a glittering jewel. He made a point to ignore it. The way the slaves were auctioned off. The words that they used. Almost as if they were prizes. It disgusted him.

No one on the prospective buyers pay him much attention. On one hand, his is grateful. On the other, he was concerned. Unsold slaves would only be kept for so long. After that, they would be sold to whoever made the most attractive offer. No matter how meager.

His hopes aren’t looking all that great until he hears a murmur through the crowd. People scatter. Feet pattering against the dirt. Making way for something. The auction stops dead in its tracks, and one of the slavers makes his way over. Huffing as he came to a stop. Stiles wondered what the fuss was all about. Maybe a local lord or something.

Whoever had arrived speaks concisely. And in a soft, even voice. Stiles can’t make out the conversation. But he knows that the man is of some standing. Given how quickly everyone had moved around him. And how the slavers were all at attention. He doesn’t have time to think about who it might be before the soft voice becomes rather loud.

“By all the gods above and below, he’s a tall lad, isn’t he?”

Stiles knew that the man was talking about him. He had always been rather tall. Taller than most of the other slaves. It was an attractive feature to some. He didn’t really understand why. All it really meant was that it was harder to clothe him.

The man approaches and Stiles does not move an inch. With lords, he could never be too careful. Slaves were property. And while he had never been struck himself, he had seen it happen to others on several occasions. That was the whims of the lords and ladies that bought them.

“How old is this one?”

“Approximately nineteen, My Lord. Good lad. Can read and write. Cook a bit as well. Never gives me any trouble.” The slaver said concisely.

Highness? That meant that the man was a royal. Stiles tried to figure out the odds of that in his head. While they weren’t that far from the capital, (at least from what he had heard), there were far better markets at hand than this one. The presence of royal was strange. Given that the man could have easily had his pick of the lot.

“Take this one to a tent. I want a…better look.”

The man walks away, and Stiles is taken by the arm. Once inside, he’s made to kneel. The inside of the tent is warm, and smells faintly of honeysuckle. People who wanted to see slaves naked often took them to the tents. Crasser slavers would make them strip in front of company, with no regards to their dignity. At least Stiles did not have to endure that.

When the flap to the tent opens again, the man who had brought Stiles in scampers away. He stays on his knees, and keeps his eyes to the floor. Just as a good slave should. He was in the presence of a royal. And the man could kill Stiles as quickly as he breathed. For no other reason than he felt like it.

“Stand.”

The command was gentle, but with authority behind it. He complies without hesitation. Eyes still trained towards the ground. Hands by his side. Unmoving. Unoffending. At least, that’s what he was trying for. Stiles, if he was to be sold, wanted not to anger his potential master.

The man grabs him by the chin, forcing him to look up. His fingers were soft, and without malice. He was rather dashing. Golden blonde hair, and eyes bluer than a clear summer sky. A slight hint of stubble across his cheeks.

“Well, you’re rather handsome. Tell me your name.”

“Stiles, Your Highness.” He didn’t know all the rules of addressing a royal. But he at least had the basics.

“Stiles…what an odd name you have. And your eyes are quite something. Very unusual. But in a good way. Well, tell me a bit about yourself boy.”

The royal lets go of Stiles’ chin. Taking a few steps back. Looking him up and down. Taking him in with silent, knowing gaze.

“There isn’t much to tell, Your Highness. As the master said, I can read and write. Cook. I’ve worked with horses as well. I’m good with the beasts.”

“That’s wonderful. Tell me dear boy, are you a virgin?”

“No, Your Highness. My previous…the last slaver who sold me used me for…breeding.”

Stiles tried to stifle the disgust that roiled in his gut. The previous slaver who had possession of him was not a cruel man. At least, not physically. He never beat the slaves, even when they tried to escape. But he did use them for other purposes. One such occasion, he used Stiles.

According to the slaver, he was unique looking. Not pretty enough for the actual auction. But enough to make him lay with several female slaves. Making babies as it were. Stiles complied less he be punished. The slaver may not have beat them. But he would take away their food and water. Make them sleep outside in the barren, unforgiving night. He had never known whether or not the efforts were successful. He was sold before he could find out.

“Well, that’s certainly distasteful. I suppose I should clarify. Have you have been used as a lover? A kept boy, as it were.”

“No, Your Highness. Only…for that.” Stiles could feel a cold sweat break out across his skin.

“Oh, you poor thing. Slave or not, I’m sure that was less than pleasant. Miserable in fact.”

Stiles says nothing. Agreeing or disagreeing with a royal wasn’t his place. The royal’s, however, was to lift up his tunic. Inspecting the expanse of his stomach. Running his hands across Stiles’ torso. He had been through this before. Scars were not considered attractive. What he had not been through, was having the front of his trousers pulled out.

The man looked downwards for an uncomfortably long time. Eyes going wide. A slight smile spreading across his flawless features. He’s amused. For what reason, Stiles didn’t know. Perhaps the man just liked peeking at other men’s cocks. He didn’t really care all that much. Any sense of propriety or dignity had long since left him.

“I think you’ll do quite nicely. Follow me. And keep quiet.”

Stiles doesn’t have time to process what the man had said. He leaves the tent, and he follows behind. Keeping three steps behind. The slaver greets them with his eyes cast down. But Stiles could tell that there was an eagerness to him. He was rather pleased with himself.

“I’ll be taking this one. See one of my men for the coin.”

“Of course, Lord Peter.”

Stiles follows the man, Peter, and is ushered into a carriage. Surprisingly, the same one as Peter. He was sharing a carriage with a royal. A slave, with a royal. It boggled him to no end. The day had started fairly standard. And now had ended with him being purchased by a member of the royal family.

Peter raps the top of the carriage. Instructing the driver to take off. It was surprisingly smooth. He had only ever been on rugged carts or, if he was truly lucky, a cage. Never anything close to this nice. The strangeness of it all was not lost on him. Certainly, it was not.

“You seem tense, dear boy. Relax. We’ll be in the capital before nightfall. Where your new home awaits.”

“Then I am to be yours, Highness?” Stiles asked with his eyes down.

“Oh no, dear boy. You’re a gift of sorts. My nephew is in great need of companionship. Though I should warn you, the crown prince can be a tad ornery. Especially as of late.”

Stiles swallowed the lump in his throat. He had heard many stories over the years. The royal family. The Hales. Their dynasty was long, and treasured. There had been no war since Stiles had been alive. No plague. No famine. But the rumors…

He knew that they were werewolves. And that they had…strange customs. Strange behaviors. Strange everything. They weren’t human. And could take non-human shapes. Stiles had met werewolves in the markets before. Some of them were fellow slaves. Strapped with an iron collar around their necks. That’s how he was able to tell the difference.

He didn’t know much more than that. Only that they were strange, and somewhat reclusive. They didn’t hold lavish parties. Or appear publicly all that often. So, for one of them, here and now, to come and purchase a slave…Once again, he felt baffled by the strangeness of it all.

“And how am I to be a companion to a prince, Highness?”

“Well, if he likes you, he might decide to take you to bed. Though, I’ve never seen my nephew show any interest in men. Mostly, you’ll just keep him company. Even if he doesn’t want it.”

Stiles felt a small sense of relief wash over him. He had never been used for…that. At least, not by any of the ones who had ever purchased him. So, at the very least, that trend was likely to continue. From what Peter said anyway. He was still a slave, but he wouldn’t be used as a toy.

They say nothing else for the rest of the carriage ride. Peter amuses himself by pouring over some manner of documents. Stiles, as he had done, keeps his eyes to the floor. Letting his mind slip into incoherence. Letting the time pass without strain.

When the carriage jolts to a stop, he jerks upright. Seeing Peter exiting quickly. He follows behind, eyes to the ground. Saying noting as he passes a hoard of people. Apparently, the man coming back was something of a procession. There were a multitude of voices. Far too many to make out anything clearly.

“By the gods, that was miserable. Even with the best craftsmen in the kingdom, those bloody things make my hips hurt. You, find this one something decent to wear. And some food.”

Stiles does not see the person Peter barks the orders at. The man departs, leaving him to the mercy of the people that had come out to greet them. Stiles tries to take in the sight of the palace as he’s dragged inside. Like a rag doll in the hands of an unruly child, he is pulled about.

Once thrown into a room, several people enter, and begin stripping him without so much as once ounce of decency. Nakedness was something that no longer bothered him. Years of washing next to other slaves had made that go away rather quickly. What he did not care for, was their lingering gazes.

“Peter says you’re for Derek.” One of the men says.

“Yes.” Stiles’ voice is soft, and unthreatening. Even if he was for a prince, and even if these people were fellow slaves, he did not want to anger anyone.

“Good luck with that. The prince hardly sees anyone these days. Waste of a coin purse to try.”

“Lord Peter begs to differ.”

“Yes, well you’ll learn that Peter doesn’t have much consideration for anyone really. He just thinks that pretty things make everything better. Be it jewels or people.” The man said harshly.

Stiles was surprised that he spoke so disrespectfully about a member of the royal family. Even if they were the only people in the room. He made a note not to get comfortable with the idea of it. Stiles was a slave, and even if he had been treated cruelly yet, there was no telling what anyone would do when bad mouthed.

“You’ll be meeting the prince soon. So, a piece of advice. He’s an alpha, and a damn strong one at that. Keep your eyes on the floor. Even if he says otherwise. Don’t speak unless spoken to. And for the love of all the gods above and below, do NOT stay if he dismisses you.”

“Peter said I am to keep him company. Even if he doesn’t want it.” Stiles said flatly.

“Well, Peter doesn’t have to deal with the prince’s temper. You do. So, good luck with sticking around if he doesn’t want you.”

Stiles swallows the lump that had formed in his throat. He says nothing else as the men finish dressing him. Their hands are rough, and they themselves are by no means gentle. When the process is done, he feels vaguely uncomfortable. He wasn’t used to wearing this much clothing.

The men drag him away from the room, and down the hall. It wasn’t all that long of a walk. Then, once again, he’s thrown into a room without much regard for anything else. The three people who are present eye him with suspicion. Nostrils flaring wildly. Eyes quivering in their head with curiosity.

“Oh gods, Peter actually went and did it, didn’t he? As if the last one went any better.” The woman’s voice gave proof to her exasperation. She was stunning.

Blonde hair. Ruby red lips. Ivory skin. The man next to her was also rather dashing. Ebony skin, and even taller than Stiles was. Certainly broader. He had ever look of a soldier. Maybe even a knight. The other one was quiet. Curly hair and an attentive, alert expression. Stiles could tell right away that they were werewolves. And they certainly weren’t slaves.

“Derek’s gonna be pissed. I can’t even imagine the screaming. Gods, we should leave before…”

The woman doesn’t have a chance to finish. A door at the back of the room opens. The man who walks in is heavy-footed. Angered, from the sound of it. He is also the man attractive man Stiles had ever seen. Sun kissed skin. Dark hair. A healthy amount of stubble working its way into a beard. And eyes so green that they seemed to be emeralds.

The woman and two men bow their heads. Turning them to the side. Exposing the long expanse of their necks. Stiles had heard of this before. It had something to about submission. It was something that wolves did to show their loyalty. He wasn’t entirely clear on the details.

“Who’s this?” the man, Derek asks. Stiles knew it had to be him. There wasn’t anybody else it could be.

“Peter brought him.” The woman said.

The man’s nostrils flare. Eyes turning a dangerous shade of red. He looks towards Stiles who was too stunned to move or do much of anything else. He had to remind himself to breathe. Just as he felt his heart climb into his throat, the man approached.

There wasn’t any time to consider looking at the floor. Or introducing himself. Derek pressed his nose into Stiles’ neck. Holding himself there for a moment. There was a low rumble in the depths of his chest. Almost like a purr. Which was an odd thing to think about. Given that he had an alpha werewolf by his throat.

When he pulls away, the man’s eyes are still red. But his expression is softer now. Gentler in a way that Stiles could not find words to describe. The three, who he presumed to be the man’s betas, looked stunned. If not downright flabbergasted.

“Name?” The prince asks.

“Stiles, Your Highness.”

The alpha doesn’t say anything beyond that. He simply turns on his heel and walks back through the door where he came from. Leaving the rest of them utterly confused and somewhat shaken. Stiles had never met an alpha before. At the very least, he didn’t get yelled at.

“Oh fuck me, he likes this one!”

Stiles considered, for just a moment, the excitement in the woman’s voice. Then, he follows the prince through the door. Even though, all things considered, it may have not been the best of ideas. Oh well, he’d have to take things in stride.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Angst, with a fluff chaser.

When the scent first hit Derek, it threw him for a turn. One that he had not yet experienced in this life. One that made every part of him to take pause and alert. Man and wolf. Prince and soldier. One that seemingly came out of nowhere. Because, as confusing as the moment was, it had a certain, poignant clarity.

He knew what they whispered behind his back. What they said about him. The servants used words like feral and unhinged. They said that he was a man on the knife’s edge. Barely holding it together. Barely staying human. He didn’t blame them. Not one bit.

After Kate’s betrayal, and Gerard’s attempted usurpation, the world seemed fractured and disconnected. Everything was upside down and inside out. The feelings he had were false, and nightmarish. The woman he loved, with whom he had given his time and body to….He hadn’t had the courage to attend her execution.

Gerard’s was far, far easier. Watching his head hit the chopping block was rather satisfying. No one had died, (at least not on their end), during his attempted takeover of the crown. He and his men met their deaths, and life moved on. Except, it didn’t really.

His mother’s solution was to find him a pack. As an alpha, and one of the royal family, he had his pick of the litter. As it were. What he chose didn’t really fit anyone’s expectations. Derek didn’t want anyone from the royal or noble families. All they would have been interested in was gossip, and seeing how much they could glean from being in his pack.

Erica was the first choice. She was a scullery maid. An omega with hardly a penny to her name. Her family was the same. Her promotion to being part of Derek’s pack would have changed her life considerably. She was rather grateful for the opportunity. As well as the coin that came with it.

Isaac was even easier. He was a stable boy. Tall, but lanky. Easy to see that he had gone a few nights without a meal. Derek found him sleeping with one of the horses. Hair matted, and skin covered in filth and muck. Beneath it, horrible bruises. Not from the hooves of one of the beasts he tended, but from that fists of a man. Derek didn’t bother asking, and Isaac didn’t seem to care.

Boyd was the last, and Derek treasured him more than anything. Erica was mischievous, and Isaac cantankerous and aloof on the best of days. Boyd, being a squire, had a sense of decorum and decency about him. A man training to be a knight was an easy enough fit. The young beta found his place as Derek’s second in no time at all.

Even with them around, even with a pack of his own, Derek felt his own wolf rumble more often than not. Simmering at the surface. Barely restrained. Barely kept in check. He knew it was going to get worse. Because, in the end, after everything, he could no longer trust himself. Which was why today, now, was so strange.

He hears an unfamiliar voice. That of a man, but not belonging to either Isaac or Boyd. When he leaves his chambers to investigate, his wolf rumbles with…something.

He’s a tall man. Taller than Isaac. Around the same age as well. If not a bit older. Lean form and chestnut brown hair. Eyes like amber struck by the afternoon sun. But more than anything, was his scent. It was like beams of light cascading through turning autumn leaves. Or the first strike of lightning before a storm…

It was everything that Derek didn’t have the words for. It was comfortable. It was captivating. It was…he was moving before he realized it. Pressing his nose into the man’s neck without even taking not of it. The man does not move. He does not speak. There is no trace of fear in him.

“Name?” He asks stepping away.

“Stiles, Your Highness.”

Derek didn’t recognize the name. There were plenty of old families, and old languages. Some that were no longer used. At least, not widespread. There was slight tinge of an accent to the man’s voice. Which was a soft and luxurious as velvet.

The alpha doesn’t say anything else. He returns to his room. Flustered, and slightly confused. Elated, in a strange way. But confused all the same. Derek could hear Erica’s exclamation as the door closed behind him. What he didn’t notice, was the man, Stiles, had followed.

The man stood there somewhat awkwardly. Silent. Eyes cast towards the floor. Hands to his side. It was rather clear that he had been told to remain as passive as possible. Most servants, at least the ones his family sent, were overly submissive to begin with. Like it somehow would keep Derek from losing control and tearing them apart.

Not that he ever had any desire or inclination to do so. Yes, his control was shaky most days. And he was prone to anger. As well as shifting without a moment’s notice. But he had never once, not once, attacked anyone for no reason. He certainly wasn’t going to do it some innocent servant. Who, quite frankly, didn’t really seem like a servant to begin with.

“Any skills?” the alpha asked.

“I can cook. Clean. I’m good with horses. I can read and write, if that’s of any importance Highness.”

“I suppose my uncle thinks sending a servant my beta’s age would make them more attractive. Not that I need any servants to begin with.”

His family had tried keeping people around Derek. Not because they feared him losing control, or going feral. But because he had a very nasty habit of shutting himself away. Some days were worse than others. Where the memory of that day played in his head in a never ending loop.

The smell of fire. The searing pain from where he had been stabbed. The fire that ran through his veins as the wolfsbane ate away at his body. Swords clashing, and the pungent scent of blood and pain as men’s insides fell to the outside.

They had won, and hardly lost any of their own. Kate was executed, along with Gerard. Now, they were here. Now. Derek had a small pack of his own. And, even though some days dragged into the abyss, he was trying. Trying to be a prince again. A soldier again. An alpha. One, who now noticed that there was a trace of fear.

Stiles’ scent had turned slightly sour on the end. A small, nearly untraceable tang that tickled Derek’s nose. All shifters were attuned to the smell of fear. The meaning behind it. It was the smell of prey. It was the smell of distress. And, indeed, Stiles was distressed.

“You smell afraid. I’m sure you’ve heard plenty of rumors, but I promise you, I’m a decent enough man. At least, I’d like to think I am.”

“It’s not that, Highness…It’s just…I’m not a servant, sir.” Stiles’ voice was soft, and shaky.

“Then, pray tell, what are you?” the alpha asked.

“I’m…a slave, Highness.”

Derek’s vision tinged red before Stiles could even finish speaking. The word, that vile, filthy word, reverberated around his head. Bouncing around. Enhancing his anger with each rebound. Slave. Slave. Slave. His uncle had bought him a slave. He had _purchased_ someone. As if they were a commodity to be traded for.

The alpha was on his feet before Stiles could move. He slams out of his chambers. Door cracking against the wall. No doubt to be in a number of pieces. His betas all rise to greet him. No doubt disturbed by his rage. They move to follow.

He silences them all with a growl. All three of them stop dead in their tracks. Freezing exactly where they were. Letting his anger rise to the surface. He couldn’t make them follow any command. But it was very clear, and evident of what the alpha wanted. And that was that he wanted no one to follow him.

This time of the day his uncle was usually holding some form of a meeting. Peter was, as people said, the most amicable of the royal family. There was a certain charm in the man’s voice. As well as authority. People just liked dealing with him better. Certainly more than they did with Derek.

He knew exactly where to go. Peter always held his meetings in the same place. Towards the west wing, near the gardens. The windows gave a relaxed, comfortable view. Allowing for a tranquil, easy setting. Derek had every last intention of disrupting that.

When he bursts through the doors, the meeting stops dead in its tracks. The men present take a moment to pause. After which, of course, they bow their heads respectfully. Derek was never all that much for decorum. But it was to be expected.

“Out. Now. I wish to have a word with my uncle.”

The men do not say anything. They simply rise from their seats. Departing with their heads bowed. Eyes trained towards the floor. Unflinching. But very much frightened. Derek rarely showed himself outside of his chambers. The only exception being his official duties as a royal. So for him to be present…people were going to be talking again.

“Well, hello nephew. I would say it was nice to see you, but I was in the matter of securing some very good business.”

“You bought me a slave.” Derek nearly choked on the word.

Slavery had been a part of their country long before the Hales took power. And despite centuries of efforts, and meetings, and votes, and Parliament, they had not been successful in disbanding the trade. At least, not entirely. Derek had never understood why they didn’t simply use their power, as the royal family, to do away with it entirely. His mother explained that it was far more complicated than that.

There were plenty of old houses in their country. Old names. With old blood. And certainly with old money. And within that old money, lied old trades. The buying and selling slaves was among them. Not just the actual slaves themselves. But with the means of transporting them. The means of their labor. So on and so forth.

Over the years, his family, even before his mother and father’s time, had made effort to make the trade less lucrative. The people who had relied on the forced labor of others could no longer turn such and easy profit. Derek, if nothing else, appreciated that.

What he did not appreciate, in any form, was his uncle, _buying_ him someone. As if a human life was so easily bought. And there were plenty of non-human slaves as well. Shifters of every kind could be collared and sold. But that was beside the point. What was the point, and the reason he was here, because Peter damn well knew better.

“Well, I thought that little trio of yours needed a little sprucing. What’s not to like? He’s young. Handsome. And certainly has room to be. I can’t fathom why you’d be displeased.”

“You fucking purchased someone, Peter. As if they were livestock. As if a human life is tradable for a meager amount of coin.”

“I assure you, the price I paid was far from meager.” Peter snipped.

Derek didn’t bother trying to look past his uncle’s words. Didn’t bother looking for any hidden meaning, or alternate objectives. As Peter often had. The alpha felt his gums sting with his fangs. His fingers burn as blunt nails turned into claws. His uncle stood. Eyes turning an icy, deadly blue. They both knew what was about to happen.

Except, Derek didn’t get the chance to strike his uncle. Someone, a rather strong someone, came from behind him. Arms wrapping up around his middle. And with one fluid motion, lifted him off the ground. Standing with his feet dangling in the air. The alpha was so surprised by the action that he felt his shift recede. His wolf both astonished and confused.

“Well…that was unexpected. Hello, Stiles. If it’s not terribly inconvenient, could you please put my nephew down?”

Derek felt the grip around him disappear. Landing back down with a soft thud. He turned around to see Stiles standing there. Eyes cast down towards the floor. Heart pounding in his chest. The sour stench of fear coming off him in waves.

“You mustn’t….You mustn’t, Your Highness. Not to family.”

Stiles’ words were shaky. Full of fright and hesitation. But he had said them clearly. And with enough force and meaning behind them that Derek got the message rather clearly. He had been afraid of what the alpha was going to do to Peter. And, in a rather dramatic fashion, done what he thought he could do to stop him.

“Stiles, while incredibly foolish, your sentiment is appreciated. Could you please rejoin the betas while I finish speaking with Derek?”

The man nods quickly. Departing just as fast. Derek watches him leave. The alpha finds himself confused and thrilled in the same moment. It was the first, truly positive experience he’d had outside of his family or pack in some time. Even if it was a bit strange.

Most people feared, or, at the very least, treaded with caution around. Especially given that he was an alpha. After Kate…most of the palace outright feared him. But not Stiles. At least, not in the way that he had become accustomed to. It was strange.

Under normal circumstances, Derek would have felt the need, the drive to retaliate. His wolf would not have tolerated such a blatant challenge to his authority. Not by a longshot. But with Stiles…it was different. It wasn’t because the man was human. Or because he was a slave. It was because…Derek didn’t know really. All he did know was that he was confused on the matter.

“Well, you seem enamored.”

“Don’t deflect, uncle.” Derek spat with a certain brand of venom.

“By all the gods above and below! If it bothers you that much, just free the boy. It’s a simple wave of your hand. While you’re at it, offer him the bite. He would certainly make for an interesting addition.”

Peter’s words were dangerous. Very, very dangerous. There were a myriad of laws in place regarding the turning of humans. Even for royals…Stiles was a slave. And had no rights. So, in that regard, the law was more lenient. But Derek had no desire to turn the man. Not at all.

For one, it was dangerous. The bite didn’t always take. And could result, quite easily, in death. And not the quick and painless kind either. It was slow. Protracted. Devastating. The body tearing itself apart trying to fight off the change. It could last for days. With no relief. Indeed, it was a dangerous choice. One that any decent alpha would never make lightly.

“You’re insane. A royal, turning a human? Parliament would lose their collective minds. What remained of them anyway.”

“Well, take the boy to bed. Send him to the stables. Something. I purchased him for a reason. Because I knew you’d like him. And it appears, dear nephew, that I was right.” Peter smirked as he spoke.

The alpha, try as he might, could not deny his uncle’s words. There was a certain allure to Stiles. One that defied words or any manner of reasonable explanation. Derek couldn’t understand it. Nor did he find himself wanting to. Stiles was…something. Something unknown and new and quite possibly dangerous. He didn’t find himself entirely opposed to any of those things when it came to Stiles.

Derek departs without any further words to his uncle. The urge to mangle and or dismember him was still there. But rather than a raging inferno that burned sense to ashes, it was merely a vague, fleeting desire. As it was most days where his uncle was concerned. He could be, even at his best, rather infuriating.

When he returns to his chambers, Stiles is there with the betas. Isaac, Erica, and Boyd have him encircled. Eyes wide and curious. Which was only natural. Stiles was new and Derek had, even if he didn’t consciously mean to, scent marked the man. He would feel like pack. Or rather, something close to it. Derek’s wolf hadn’t had the time to decide what the man was just yet.

“You three, off. Now.”

Curiosity aside, their manners had not been lost in the time that Derek had been gone. All three of the betas disperse. Leaving Stiles standing by the window. Bathed in golden rays of sunlight. It was a mesmerizing sight to behold. Derek had to remind himself to breathe.

“Stiles, you’re excused for the day. Erica will show you to a bed.”

Derek says nothing else. Entering his chambers. Trying his best to make sense of both the man and the wolf. Whatever Stiles was, he was entrancing. Beautiful. And maybe, just maybe, a little bit bold. As the alpha pondered this, he noticed a certain tightness in his trousers. His cock was hard. Which, even with every other strange thing that had happened today, was by far the most confounding.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love the idea of TallStiles. It's fun. Him being taller than Derek, and being able to manhandle him just as well. *Chef's Kiss*. Next chapter, more angst. And maybe some plot development.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Angst and fluff. Nothing all that important. At least, not yet.

Derek was at a loss as to what to do next. It had been four days since Stiles arrived. Four days since the man who scent captivated him. Four days since the realization that his uncle, however well intended, had purchased someone for him. Four days since Derek had spoken more than he had in the last six months.

The first thing that he noticed about Stiles, among many things, was that he liked to talk. Or rather, he was skilled at talking. The servants who brought him his food, or took away the dishes, or delivered fresh linens, any of them, never said a word in his presence. Never inquired towards his mood or his appetites.

Apart from his betas, and on occasion his family, Derek lived in complete and total silence. It was, at times, discomforting. And perhaps, even a little depressing. But for the most part, he actually enjoyed it. Having the quiet. Attending court was a bothersome experience. Given people’s propensities for gossip, rumor mills, and all other manner of unpleasantness.

Nobles knew no end to their henish ways. The alpha did not, in any way, appreciate being the subject of gossip. Either good or bad. Most talked about when he would snap. If he would go feral and have to be put down. As if he were a rabid dog. The other rumors, while lesser in their circulation, were no less pleasant to hear.

As the only male child of the current king and queen, Derek was, as people said, prime marriage material. Which, in his mind, was ridiculous. The alpha, apart from Kate, had never entertained the idea of marriage. He was a soldier and a general. He had plenty of his own duties to attend to.

There was, of course, those who spoke about his being in line for the throne. As firstborn, that was Laura’s right. Even though he was the only son, she was born before him, and traditionally, that meant that she would be queen.

Derek had no interest in the throne. And interestingly enough, neither did Stiles. Among all the talking that went on in the palace, and there was plenty, Stiles never once seemed concerned with any piece of the gossip that circulated. In fact, he talked about everything else.

In the mornings, he would gently awaken Derek. Informing him of the time. Remarking on the weather and the day’s events. The alpha had freed Stiles as soon as he left the company of his uncle. Now, he was a normal servant. Just like the rest of them. Except that he wasn’t.

The betas, even though they were part of Derek’s pack, remained, almost always, entirely formal and diligent. Stiles, while using proper forms of address, was far more casual than the alpha was accustomed towards experiencing. It was…strange.

Being a prince meant that people respected, and sometimes feared him, on the matter of principal. Not that Stiles was disrespectful. But he seemed to feel no need to cow down towards Derek. Or brown nose him in any way. He simply did his job as he was supposed to. Even though he had never worked in a royal household before. The man was surprisingly adaptable.

He never seemed to have any questions. Addressing everyone the way they were supposed to be addressed. Knowing the best route to take in the palace despite having been there for less than a week. Bowing when he was supposed to bow. So on and so forth. But most of all, the thing that Derek noticed the most, was the kindness.

Stiles genuinely seemed to care about the people around him. Despite the fact that they were practical strangers. Despite the fact that he was a servant. Even if he was a servant to the prince, he was still had no rank, and no standing. But acted as if, even the more cantankerous peoples, were ones he had known for years.

It was strange. Most every servant in the palace wanted to get out of Derek’s presence as quickly as possible. Having feared for their own lives. (Once again, rumors were terrible things.) Stiles was always more than happy to lend a hand to anyone who may have need of it.

Derek was, for the most part, self-sufficient. And even before Stiles, had no real need of servants. So, for the most part, he let the man do as he pleased. Which often ended in surprising results. Namely, Stiles cooked for him. The man had said that he had some skill in the matter. But he had been understating himself.

Unlike most of those who called the palace home, Derek did not desire, nor care for excessiveness. He was shockingly reserved in his dining tastes when compared to others. Was neither fussy or picky. Even still, Stiles always seemed to be able to bring him something that he hadn’t even known that he wanted.

The betas were more than happy to take full advantage of this. Erica, the minx, was notorious for her affinity for sweets. Stiles, while not a pastry master, had enough skill to keep the young omega satisfied when the cravings hit her.

Isaac was, of all things, adverse to meat. Despite being a werewolf. Derek did not ask as to why. But there were only so many ways one could eat vegetables or fruits before it became tiresome. Stiles seemed to be able to cook them in a way that never seemed as such. With Isaac enjoying it every time the man brought by food.

Boyd, being squire, and therefore more disciplined, was not all that picky. But more than happy to accept whatever it was that Stiles brought. Derek was…the alpha didn’t exactly know how to feel about the matter. It was…strange. The level of comfort that everyone seemed to feel around Stiles. The manner in which he fit. The manner in which he belonged.

In less than a week Derek, as well as all three of his betas, considered Stiles to be pack. Even though he was entirely human. Even though he was a virtual stranger. The ease of it was shocking in a way. But in another, entirely welcome. Even if Stiles himself did not realize it. Not that he could. Being human.

The man was unfazed by the casualness in which the pack interacted with him. Scent marking was an important dynamic in any pack. Between alphas and their betas. It reinforced hierarchy and established lasting, bonded connections. It was also a great sign of comfort. Even though he had taken his betas from less than desirable positions, not everyone had their best day every day.

Stiles seemed to find nothing strange with the casualness in which the pack touched him. Even with Derek, the man simply rolled with the punches. As it were. All in all, it was rather astounding. What was not astounding, were the meetings. The endless, abysmal meetings.

Ever since Kate and Gerard’s death, the country had been in a state of upheaval. The family’s territory had been stripped from them. Their coffers emptied. Chris Argent and his daughter, Allison, were allowed to keep their titles in name only. They had no land or properties to speak of. As they had all been used to rebuild what had been destroyed.

Today’s meeting was with Derek’s least favorite person. Deucalion was a ruthless, ambitious alpha that liked to tread the lines of propriety. Even at the best of times. Now that the country was in pieces, still trying to stitch itself back together…Derek knew exactly what kind of play he intended to go for.

When the alpha arrives, the palace goes quiet. There were disturbing rumors that surrounded the man. As well as the vassals he had at his disposal. Tales of murder, mutiny, and deception. Even more scandalous and salacious than the ones that circulated about Derek. The difference was, with Deucalion, there was a great deal of backing to them.

There is a tangible chill in the air. Derek feels a shiver creep down his spine. Reverberating all through his body. Even though they were in the middle of summer, he was chilled to the bone. When he actually sees the man…things are not any better.

There was always the vague smell of death about Deucalion. As if he had, not too long ago, killed something. Or someone. It was a disturbing thing for a man to smell like. Derek never felt comfortable around him. Even as a lad. The only reason the man was allowed in the palace was because of the damage he could do. Outside of the royal family, he was one of the most powerful alphas in the country.

They greet each other as formally and as politely as possible. The entire thing is stiff and full of tension. And they haven’t even started to talk about why the man was here. Stiles seemed to notice none of it. And if he did, the man was entirely unfazed. Then again, as a human, he wasn’t privy to the complications of dominance and submission between alphas.

He simply pours wine into the man’s goblet. Eyes to the floor. Saying nothing. Derek had, very concisely, made sure that Stiles knew exactly what kind of man Deucalion was. In that he was a murderous, backstabbing jumpstart who was never satisfied with his position. And, above all else, loved to air petty grievances.

“Thank you for taking the time to see me today, Your Highness.”

“I will always make time for my duties. Now, onto business.” Derek said firmly.

He disliked small talk. And chatter. As well as idleness. Deucalion, the wretch, would always look for something to exploit. Somehow, someway. Namely, to give himself more position. More power. More standing. Derek knew that game. It just so happened that Deucalion was an expert at it.

The matters at hand were actually rather simple. During the attempted usurpation, there was plenty of damage at hand. Crops were burned. Coffers looted. So on. Most of the damages had been paid for out of the Argent’s own pockets. But ashen crops could not be regrown with a snap of the fingers. There were plenty of nobles that had ample grain storages.

The problem, as it always was, lay in that the greedy bastards were never willing to share all that much. Even by royal command, they would always find some excuse to make sure that they held tight to them. Derek had never been all that enthused with the inherent greed that came with the aristocracy.

The issue with Deucalion, was the use of his men. While by no means a royal, he still had plenty of households that pledged their loyalty to him. And that meant a great deal of soldiers. A great deal of arms. If Derek was honest with himself, the man had his own army. Though, that being said, they obeyed him out of fear, not respect. That was the most pressing issue. 

They were short on manpower. Above all else, quelling the bandits and highwaymen took precedent in Derek’s mind. Deucalion listened to his concerns. All the while politely sipping on his wine. Never once interrupting the other alpha. Derek knew what he was going to ask for the moment he finished.

“So, with respect Highness, I take it that there is some manner of compensation involved?”

“You will be granted a portion of the reclaimed Argent land. One of your choosing. There’s plenty to select from. I even believe one portion has an iron mine. That would most profitable.” Derek’s terms were simple and concreate.

“That sounds outstanding, Your Highness. But I was also thinking a change in rank might be in order. A Duke, perhaps?”

Derek ground his teeth. He had expected Deucalion to ask for plenty of land. Maybe even coin. But a higher rank…that changed things. No matter the land. No matter the coin. No matter the arms. Derek could always contest. However, naming Deucalion a Duke would give him one of the highest standings outside of the royal family. And that was something that no one wanted.

“Naming of rank can only be administered by the king. Of which I am not.”

“Pardon, Highness. But that remains a very real possibility. There are plenty who would back you.” Deucalion said with a sneer.

Derek felt his wolf growl. The shift lingered at the back of his brain. His fingers burned. His teeth ached. Every last animal part of him wanted to tear into the man. To rip his bowels from his belly. And to spread them along the floor as a warning to others.

He had expected Deucalion to seek more than he rightfully deserved. But this…this was unexpected. And the thing that Derek hated the most. Laura was the rightful heir to the throne. Derek being male made no difference. Not in the eyes of the law. Yet he was one of their nobility. Blatantly trying to start a civil war.

And even as his anger consumed him…even as he was fully ready to rip Deucalion’s head off for even the suggestion of treason, his rage was broken. Stiles had come to pour another goblet full of wine. And instead, had knocked the entire thing over into Deucalion’s lap. Splattering him with sticky red liquid.

“Why you little….”

Stiles backed away and bowed. Eyes to the floor. But Derek caught it. The tiniest, barely there glimpse. A smile. Small and barely noticeable. But he had. The spilling of the wine had not been an accident. It had been done purposefully. Intentionally. Derek knew exactly why.

“Stiles, to the stables. For your clumsiness you can sleep with the horses. For embarrassing me in front of my guest, you can eat with them as well. Off, now.”

Derek pushed as much authority into his voice as he possibly could. Ensuring that Deucalion bought the act. In truth, he had no intention of making Stiles sleep in the stables. But the alpha needed to make sure that the man in front of him believed it. Less he pay a heavier price later on.

He finishes the meeting briskly. Handing Deucalion the documents signifying his new ownership of the previous Argent lands. The discussion of his possibly new rank does not come up. Nor does the mention of Derek being king. Much to everyone’s pleasure.

When the other alpha leaves, Derek could feel all the tension leave his body. He nearly collapses back into the chair. There were far too many things that he had on his mind. Least of all worry about whether or not he nearly murdered a member of the country’s mobility.

He couldn’t understand why his wolf already felt so protective over Stiles. The man was only a servant. One who hadn’t even been at the palace for a week. Pushing the strangeness of it all aside, he excused himself. Desperate for some fresh air. Even with how big the palace was, the air sometimes became stifled and fetid.

Derek had always felt more comfortable with nature than in tight fitting breaches and stiff collars. The feel of the wind on his face. The sweet, green smell of grass and flowers. His wolf was always more comfortable. His sisters used to make fun of him for it. He didn’t blame them.

Once outside, he heads towards the stables to see his horse, Jacques. He had been just a lad he’d received him. He was a good stallion. Obedient and loyal. As well as affectionate. Derek had never been good with any of the beasts of the palace. Being a werewolf, he tended to frighten them. Today, he rather felt like a ride.

Much to his surprise, (even though it shouldn’t have been), Stiles was in the stables. Raking soiled hay and muck. Eyes attentive and focused. Wholly unaware that there was a werewolf mere feet from him. That was another thing that the man found fascinating. When Stiles put himself to the task, there was very little that he couldn’t get done.

“What are you doing Stiles?”

The man in question looks up from his task. Sweat sheening his brow. Now that Derek was closer, he could smell it. The rich, virile musk of a man working in the sun. He could feel his wolf grumble with pleasure. Pleased with it. Enticed by it. Attracted to it. Once again, the strangeness of it was not lost on him.

“You ordered me to the stables, sir.”

“Stiles, that was…I did that to save face with Deucalion. The man would have seen you whipped. Now that he’s gone….just get back to the palace.” Derek said with a somewhat exasperated tone.

The man smiles. Wiping his brow and taking off towards the palace. More than likely to have a bath. Derek found himself wishing that he wouldn’t. So that he could savor the warmth of his scent. That strong masculine thing that seemed to make his wolf so very excitable. He pushes the thoughts as he decides to follow Stiles back inside. Leaving his horse for another day.

The alpha parts ways with the man. Making his way back towards his own quarters. His bed finds him comfortable. Easy. The alpha desires rest. Even though he had not had all that much of a busy day. He wants to lie still. Consumed by his thoughts and more pressingly, his temptations. In the form of Stiles.

The familiarity of the man continued to astound him. But as the days went by, he thought, the strangeness would fade. At the very least, he had to admit that Stiles was pack. That he, unknowingly taken the man as his own. Despite him being entirely human. The alpha pushed the implications of that aside in favor of a nap.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That was fun. Next chapter, a party. And clever Stiles....Thanks for reading, and as always, much love.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some SoftStiles in this chapter. As well as a little brooding Derek.

Stiles had been in the employ of the royal palace for the better part of a fortnight. Things were…strange. He had never been around werewolves, or any shifters for that matter, in his life. Even before he became a slave…there weren’t all that many in his hometown.

The ones that were kept to themselves, away from the rest of them. Usually in the outskirts or in the forest itself. They made no trouble, but also made no effort to be a part of the village life. None of their festivals. None of their harvests. Nothing. It was strange to him. That they lived so close, and yet chose to distance themselves so very much. Seemed lonely in a way.

Now that he was in the palace, he saw that there were reasons that they were the way they were. Werewolves differed to one another in ways that humans did not. There were complex relations between the dynamics of alpha, beta, and omega. And then there were actually differences in-between social ranks.

As an alpha and as a prince, Derek was actually rather simple. The only people above him were the king and queen. (Whom he had yet to actually meet, or even see.) There was Isaac, Erica, and Boyd. His immediate pack and subordinates. They held higher rank than those of the soldiers directly under Derek’s command.

Even within his own pack, there were differences. Boyd, (Stiles guessed), was the second in command. He was quiet and contemplative. Clever in a subtle way. He always seemed to have an answer or a solution to whatever issue may have been at hand.

Isaac was…firm. In the sense that he firmly did not trust Stiles in any way. At best, he tolerated the man’s presence. But made no efforts to be friends or engage in any form that could be considered casual. Stiles did not blame him. Even with the time he had been here, he was a stranger. Someone outside of Isaac’s world, and therefore, outside of his trust.

Erica, on the other hand, was entirely comfortable with Stiles. More so than he had ever experienced. Back home, young men and women did not engage in physical affection. The exceptions being those who were married. And even then, they did so in private and away from the eyes of others.

The young she-wolf, however, was perfectly happy to hug and, on occasion, kiss Stiles. Delighting in the shade of red his faced turned. Stiles took it with a certain amount of grace. Reminding himself that, at times, the other two would also touch him. Albeit far more reserved.

Boyd was a hand on the shoulder, or lower back. Isaac was, more often than not, a casual pass by. Stiles did not know the meaning behind such embraces. Only that they mattered to werewolves, and had no real convention in terms of human understanding.

Derek, on the other hand, was…different. There were days where he would hardly speak at all. Both to Stiles or his betas. Which was strange. Given the proximity that they all shared with one another. Other days…Stiles was never one to know when to know when to stop talking. Some days, Derek did not say anything to him. Other days he was as loquacious as Stiles was.

More so, the man was unusually affectionate for a man of his station. Stiles had never met a man of Derek’s standing. Back home…they were simple folk. No lords or ladies. Just simple village folk. So, meeting people of Derek’s kind…there were some things that he wasn’t expecting.

Stiles was not used to the casualness that came with being around werewolves. Erica was the worst, and thoroughly enjoyed teasing him. Derek was something else. The closeness was what confused Stiles. The prince was always within proximity of Stiles. Even on his less pleasant days. The alpha seemed to want to be near him. And he didn’t know why.

Thinking of it wasn’t really that high of a priority to Stiles. He had been a slave for six years. Now, he was employed by the palace. The personal footman of the prince of their kingdom. There was enough going on without thinking of the strangeness of it all. And there were, indeed, many strange things.

Mainly, the other servants in the palace. Stiles wasn’t always by Derek or the other’s side. He, quite frequently, had to attend to matters on the other side of the palace. Such as fetching fresh water. Or wine. Or any number things that any of them may have wanted.

In his experience, the other servants and staff avoided him as if he were riddled with the plague. Eyes cast to the floor. Quickly scurrying past him. Hushed voices whispering that he couldn’t quite catch. Other times, he could hear them. And what they did say was…unpleasant.

They used rather dangerous words in regards to Derek. Feral. Unhinged. Dangerous. Even worse still towards his betas. Well, it was the other nobles that had those things to say. Peasants. Trash. Worthless. It seemed that most of the palace did not favor Derek, or the others, very well at all. At least, not from what Stiles could hear.

From what he had experienced, they were certainly strange. At least, compared to the rest of the palace. Personally, Stiles had no issue with them. Not that he had any room to have any issues to begin with. He was a former slave, and a current servant. His opinion on things mattered less than nothing. So, he did his job.

This particular day was, in a word, hectic. Derek, for the most part, kept to himself. Attending to the duties he held as prince. As well as a general. For the most part, Stiles accompanies the man to each and every place he visits in the palace. No one pays him any mind more than one would pay attention to the decorations on the walls.

Derek, is in fact, a rather busy man. Given the amount of meetings he holds and people he meets. Thankfully, none of them are as dreadful as the man that he met some days ago. Deucalion was his name, if Stiles was remembering correctly. There was an aura about the man. Terrible and vile. A coldness that defied explanation. He very much desired to never see him again.

By midafternoon, it was obvious that Derek was exasperated beyond reproach. Dealing with people did not seem to be one of his strong suits. And Stiles did not blame him. Given how cautiously they all walked around him. As if he might explode like a powder keg.

The man excuses Stiles, and heads towards his quarters. Asking not to be disturbed. That was not entirely uncommon. Derek enjoyed his privacy a great deal. Remarkable, given his status as a prince. And the way that people either seemed to fear him, or fawn over him. It depended on the person, it seemed. Stiles was rather astonished at people’s lack of concern for the man’s feelings.

The way they talked about him under their breaths…Stiles would have assumed that they would have been flogged for that level of insolence. Derek, while irritated, ignored them entirely. Though the man was no entirely unaffected by the remarks. On certain days, Derek could tell that he was upset.

When he finally manages to make his way back to his quarters, still thinking of the prince, Stiles doesn’t have time to think. As he’s snatched by his hand, dragged away. A flurry of blonde hair whipping him in the face.

“Erica!”

The young woman doesn’t answer him. Just continues to drag him along. When they reach her quarters, there are several ladies in waiting. She dismisses all of them. Demanding that they leave. Though they are hesitant, they obey regardless.

“Now that’s settled, I need your help.”

“My help? With that?” He asked softly. Stiles still wasn’t used to the familiarity in with which she treated him with.

Erica, in a haste, throws open one of her wardrobes. Revealing several dresses. The first in cream with gold trim. Billowing base and lace at the bottom. The second, was green and silver. With accents of blue. The last, which she seemed most excited about was the most glaring red that Stiles had ever seen in his life. Accented with gold and silver. It was a statement within itself.

“Tonight is the celebration of the Bountiful Moon. The king and queen are expected to attend, which hasn’t happened in a while. So, it’s expected to be the last great party of the season, because, after this, they probably won’t attend another. And I can’t, for the life of me, decide what to wear.”

“Perhaps one of your ladies in waiting would be better suited to the task.” Stiles suggested.

“They’re all useless. They don’t have an opinion. They just nod their heads and tell me how pretty I look. I have only a few hours left to get ready, and I’m stuck. Boyd’s off being official, and Isaac, as usual, has disappeared.”

Stiles was at an impasse. By no means that could be considered, was he an expert in clothing. He did not know how to make or mend it. Nor did he have the knowledge of what a lady should wear to an official party. But what he did have, was a very small, tiny idea. A thing at the back of his brain. Something that he used to do back home.

“Wait right here.”

Stiles had always been a nimble lad. So running towards the palace gardens was a simple, easy task. The people there pay him no mind. He peruses the selection at hand. Happy with the flowers that he finds. No one says anything as he takes what he wants. Though he is careful to not be greedy or overly indulgent about it.

On the way back, he manages to pick some dandelions as well. Erica was impatiently waiting for him. Foot tapping relentlessly against the ground when he entered. Eyes going into her hair line when she saw him with his arms full of flowers.

“This is gonna be fun.”

Erica doesn’t fight with him. Sitting down as Stiles positions himself behind her. Delicately working his hands through her hair. Back home, when he was much younger, he had seen the woman back in the town do this for their celebrations. Intricate braiding of the hair and decorations woven into it.

One of the most common was wildflowers. Here, at the palace, there was a far larger variety of flowers to choose from. And far more that could be done with them. More specifically, roses. Stiles had only ever seen them once. Big, bold, colorful. It was the perfect thing.

Erica does not move an inch while Stiles works with her hair. Never asking any questions. Never arguing with him. He tried to remember, as much as he could, what the women back home did. Trying to make sure that the braids were neat and straight. All the while weaving bits of roses and lavender into the woman’s hair. When he was done, he felt quite satisfied.

“Take a look, and tell me what you think.”

Erica picks up her hand mirror. Looking herself over. Checking every inch of her hair. She says nothing. Only turning round and round. Looking. Looking. Looking again. Tears well in her eyes, and Stiles is entrapped in a bone crushing hug. He can feel the air being squeezed out of him.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. But I can’t breathe!”

Erica releases him. A sheepish look on her face. An embarrassed one at that. Stiles could only smile.

“You have to wear the red dress with this hair. I’m sure it’ll make a statement.”

“The ladies at the party are going to be pissed. And that, my friend, is an idea I love entirely.”

Erica was smiling again. Devilish and dangerous. There was a hidden meaning behind all of it. But Stiles wasn’t going to pry. It wasn’t his place. Instead, he busies himself by weaving flower crowns. It was something that he did as a child. Playfully making new ones in different ways.

When Erica readies herself to dress, he leaves. Her ladies in waiting coming back in to help her. Boyd comes by some hours later. Dressed to the nines and looking every bit a gentleman. Stiles is actually somewhat envious. He’s never put all that much thought into his appearance, but the man does look good.

“You should be getting ready.”

“Getting ready?” Stiles asked.

“Even Derek’s attending. As his personal manservant, you’ll be expected to be waiting on him hand and foot. Wear something…plain. Try not to stick out too much.”

Stiles had no idea that the prince would be attending the party. Given that reclusiveness was a part of his natural disposition. Before leaving to get dressed into something a bit more formal, he hands Boyd one of the flower crowns.

The man looks at Stiles as if he had gone mad. Things become perfectly clear when Erica comes out of her quarters. She is absolutely breathtaking. The gown looks stunning on her. Billowing red fabric. A sunset given form in that of a dress. Stiles was right. The flower braids were a good idea.

“Erica…you look…”

Stiles can see, that for once, the clever and concise Boyd was at a loss for words. Erica’s cheeks redden with blush. Her eyes moving towards the floor. For the first time since Stiles had met her, she looked shy and withdrawn. But in the best way possible. He leaves a flower crown for Isaac.

His own selection of clothing was rather limited. Being in the personal employ of the prince afforded him some manner of choosing. But it was nothing overly expressive or outlandish. Servants were not expected to, as Boyd had said, ‘stand out’.

He chooses simply blacks and greys. Keeping things put together and practical. He had to be able to keep up with Derek. And that, on some days, was no easy task. When he finishes with himself, he makes his way to the prince’s chambers. Seeing how things were fairing for the man.

The prince had no issues with dressing himself. Despite many of his station having a fleet of servants dressed just for that. Derek wore a marvelous deep blue and purple. Looking every bit a royal. Namely, because only royals could afford such colors. Stiles found himself looking a little too long at the man.

“You’re late.”

“Apologies, Highness. I was…occupied. Erica had kidnapped me.” Stiles explained.

“My beta’s antics aside, you should always…”

The prince’s words seemed to trail off as he looked towards Stiles. Eyes going wide as he looked him up and down. There was a tangible silence between them. A pause. A moment. Then, Derek was moving. With Stiles quickly behind.

Erica, Isaac, and Boyd were all waiting for them. Each dressed impeccably. Erica, in red. Boyd is slate grey. Isaac in silver. But all eyes were towards Erica and her dress as well as the flowers that Stiles had braided into her hair. Derek especially had plenty of questions.

“Back home, we celebrated the harvest with flowers. Since it meant the end of the season where they can grow. I thought I could make some adornments for you all.”

Derek didn’t say anything. Delicately placing the crown of flowers on his head without further question. Stiles had been rather surprised that the man was going to wear it. Given that it was frivolous and somewhat childish.

Just as they leave, Erica places a leftover rose behind Stiles’ ear. Kissing him on the cheek as she walks past. The young man can feel his face go red. The blush creeping down his neck. Tonight was certainly going to be interesting. Especially given everyone’s reaction when they arrived to the main ballroom.

There was a large amount of chatter, dozens of voices overlapping. Then, entirely silent. Stiles knew it was a number of things. Namely, because Derek was here. According to the gossip in the palace, he did not attend social functions. They had to have some pertinence towards his duties as prince. The second, was Erica.

Stiles knew exactly what the impact would be with her showing up in that dress. Combined with the braiding, all the eyes were on her. Part of him was thankful. That meant everyone would be ignoring him.

They make their way into the party. Moving in between crowds of people. All looking to get near the prince. Derek downs three goblets of wine before he even finishes speaking with the first person. Stiles watches him carefully. Trying to make sure that the man does not overdo things. He does not care, no does he listen. By the time the king and queen arrive, Derek is flushed red with drunkenness.

Stiles bows the same as everyone else. Looking towards the two people that are responsible for ruling his country. They are beautiful, and somewhat terrifying. There is a power in their eyes. Something that he cannot explain or make sense of. He decides to look away.

The party resumes. The music picks back up. With couples forming and dancing in the hundreds of candles that surrounded them. Derek had refused every offer to dance. One, because he was drunk. Two, because he had every intention of fleeing at the first chance.

“I think my nephew should retire for the night, don’t you?”

Peter’s voice was as soft, and velvety as ever. Stiles had come to know the man who had purchased him over the past two weeks. He was, in a word, strange. Along with Derek, he was the only other royal that Stiles had met. The two princess, Laura and Cora, he had not been aquatinted with. So, he didn’t have all that much of a baseline for comparison.

What he did know, was that Peter was not evil or vindictive or malicious. But there was a certain aura about him. Something that made others intrinsically fear him. Stiles was among them. He avoided the man as much as he could. Not because he was unpleasant. But because the man sent a chill down the spine of everyone he was around. 

“I will escort him back to his chambers.” Stiles moved to fetch Derek when Peter stopped him.

“You’re good for him, you know. My nephew hasn’t been this attentive towards civility in months. But do be careful. Envious eyes doth wander these halls.”

Stiles has not the faintest clue to what Peter is talking about. He moves to take Derek back to his chambers, wondering just what the man had meant. The prince, surprisingly, does not resist or fight with Stiles. The man loops his around the servant’s shoulders. Needing just a bit of support walking out. No one says anything as they walk past. In fact, no one seems to be paying them any mind at all.

Once having left the part, and taking the long trek back to Derek’s chambers, Stiles faces his most difficult task of the night. Trying to undress a drunk werewolf who was already on the verge of sleep. Derek does not resist or fight with Stiles. But he certainly doesn’t help either.

When it was all said and done, Stiles managed to get the man in his sleeping clothes. Under the covers of his bed. The prince’s eyes were already heavy. His breathing slowed and even Stiles moved to leave when a hand snatched his wrist. Keeping him still.

“Stay.”

The word was not a command. It was no order. It was not something with any measurable authority behind it. It was…a plea. Or something along those lines. Derek had wanted him to stay. Derek had wanted to come into bed with him.

“Okay.”

Stiles didn’t understand why he felt no fear or hesitation. He simply slips into one of the prince’s night wearings. Making himself comfortable next to the other man. Derek looks softer in his sleep. Younger, even. All the rough edges worn away. The façade of toughness gone and replaced with something…different.

He doesn’t mean to fall asleep, but he does. Stiles had every intention of leaving once the prince was asleep. But he didn’t. And not one part of him feels anything close to regret. It was the best he had slept in years.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cuddling is the best. Next chapter, aftermath. And some suspense. As always, thanks for reading, and much love.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fluff with a chaser of angst.

Derek wakes with a dry mouth, and a headache pounding harder than a battle drum. It had been some number of years since he’d been drunk. Even more so given the amount that he drank. Which was more than he should have. Given that it was an official social function. He doesn’t really remember all that much. Especially how he got to bed.

Even before Kate, and the fire, and the blood, Derek had never been one for parties. He had always been a socially awkward lad. The dynamics of werewolves, he understood. As a prince, and as an alpha, he understood the hierarchy of the wolves he lived his life around.

The movements of parties, meetings, and other court functions eluded him greatly. In these things, he was not a commander or a solider. There were no clearly defined rules or expectations. Therefore, he had, metaphorically, swallowed his tongue. More than once.

On the night of the Bountiful Moon, he found his nerves more shot than usual. Especially as of late. The recent encounter with Deucalion had helped nothing. The man was…the alpha didn’t even have the words to describe him. Though his intentions were clear enough.

Princes, especially alphas, were always more desirable to see seated on the throne. Derek had, as the second born, always been seen in competition with Laura. As an alpha herself, by their country’s laws, she was more than capable of ruling.

The criticisms came from her lack of military experience. Her lack of practical combat training. Even though that women were often discouraged, if not outright told to stay out of military affairs. So, said criticisms rarely made sense.

Derek had never desired the throne. He had never desired to rule. So Deucalion’s ‘suggestions’ unnerved him greatly. The act of attending a party, where there would be other likeminded people, made his stomach turn. Thankfully, no one truly had the same level of audacity as Deucalion. It did not make matters any easier or more pleasant for that matter.

There were talks of marriage. Who in the court he fancied and who he did not. In this day in age, such things were expected to be talked about. Gossiped about. It unnerved him to no end. Affairs were common. Nobles had the great luxury of being able to afford it.

Derek was never one for the flirtatious nature of some of the families in attendance. How fathers threw their children at him like he was a trophy to hold. Yes, he was a prince. And anyone who married him would inherit a great deal of wealth and power. But that’s all they saw with him. Wealth, and power.

Thankfully, Stiles was by his side the entire night. The man cleaned up nicely. And had a sort of stability to him that the alpha appreciated. A certain grounding that words couldn’t do justice for. Something that made Derek feel…calmer. Stiles made him feel calm. Well, that, and the many goblets of wolfsbane laced wine he drank. He began to lose track after ten.

Stiles began to slow down the rate in which he handed Derek the wine after that. The alpha never drank all that often, and therefore, did not have much of a tolerance. Things started to get fuzzy soon after that. To his knowledge, he did not embarrass himself, or his family. But the details remained unclear.

When he reaches a period of half awareness, the alpha fumbles around towards the nightstand. Where there was always a pitcher of water. He chugs the entire thing in one go. It is still cool, and is pleasant. Reliving the ache in his head, and the parched state of his mouth.

With the world coming back into clarity, he also noticed that, along with a headache and a dry mouth, he was not alone in his bed. The alpha could feel his heart leap into his throat. Choking the air from him. he had never been one for drunken debauchery. Was certainly never one for taking someone to bed with him.

He swallows down the lump of panic. Slowly turning around. Seeing who he had slept with. To his immense surprise, it was Stiles. The man was sleeping soundly. Chest rising and falling in soft, easy slumber. The man looked a bit younger here. The already delicate features of his face somehow even more polished and beautiful.

The early morning light was streaming in through the windows. Bathing his face in warm, golden tones. Stiles looked like he belonged in a painting. One made by a great master. One that took countless hours and efforts. Derek found words escaping him.

Given that they both still had all of their clothes on, they hadn’t had sex. (Thank all the gods above and below.) But that didn’t Derek didn’t make a fool of himself in other ways. His memory was still hazy from the night before. Wondering how he got to bed, and why, even as much as he enjoyed the sight of it, why Stiles was in bed with him.

That fresh nature scent he always had about him was even more enticing than normal. It felt… _right._ In a strange, unknown way. Like he was supposed to be in Derek’s bed. Like he was supposed to be here. Werewolves did not have the same boundaries as humans did. Pack dynamics varied, but all shared rather similar structures across the board.

It was…uncommon in this day and age for a human to be part of a pack. Werewolves and humans shared equal numbers in terms of population. And, for the most part, kept to themselves. There was a time, long before the Hales came to power, where war had broken out. But Derek did not know or feel that kind of tension.

The alpha was content to simply watch Stiles sleep. His chest rising and falling as with each breath. The features of his face twitching as his dreams passed beneath his eyes. It was oddly peaceful. The normal tension in his body was gone. And the world seemed a little bit smaller.

Eventually, Derek himself went back to sleep. So comfortable and content that his body fell back into slumber. This time, he is awoken by a slight, soft sound. One that he recognizes as sniggering. Upon opening his eyes, he can see Peter and Malia both standing over him. With his uncle barely restraining his laughter.

“Three seconds. That’s all you have. After that, your intestines get splattered on the floor.”

Peter, not bothering to hide his laughter anymore, promptly retreated. Malia, as she usually did, looked at things through a lens of disinterest, and a vague sense of disgust. She was even less sociable than Derek. And that was on a good day.

“Cousin. Looks like you had fun.”

“Malia, I love you dearly, but get the hell out.” Derek snapped.

The sudden rise in his tone was loud enough that it jostled Stiles. The young man stirred to the waking world. Eyes fluttering open and yawning widely. Completely unaware that there was someone standing over him. Or that he was in bed with a prince.

“He’s cute. Now, get dressed. Your mom wants a meeting. Urgent, from what I gather.”

Malia left without bothering to elaborate any further. Leaving Derek in an even deeper state of confusion. Stiles, having no time to even introduce himself, simply stared at the young woman as she left. There was a certain, intriguing look in his eyes. As well as a certain uptone to his scent. Derek ignored it in favor of getting out of bed.

Stiles followed shortly after. Excusing himself to dress in appropriate clothing. Derek shed his own. (Still wondering how he got into his sleeping apparel.) Donning a one of the more formal suits he had. He was never for the pomp and ceremony of clothing. As much as some nobles were. He was a prince. And he did not need seven layers of clothing to show it.

Just as he is finishing, Stiles returns. Two jugs of water balanced in his arms. Derek thanks him eagerly. Chugging both of them down in a matter of seconds. Coming up sputtering. All the while promising himself that he would never drink again.

“I take it the effects of last night are kicking in, Highness?” Stiles asked playfully.

“What, pray tell, happened exactly?” Derek asked.

“The pressures of the evening began to weigh on you, and by that time, you didn’t even bother to ask me for the goblets. You just took them from whomever was passing by.”

“I didn’t…I didn’t make a fool of myself?” The alpha questioned fearfully.

“Not entirely. Though, I’m certain a few ladies were more than intrigued with the blush that was on your cheeks. They were talking about it as I took you back to your room.”

Stiles smiled _that_ smile. The one that he wore when he was being a coy little shit. While entirely respectful, and dutiful, Stiles was, on occasion, a sarcastic little bastard. Mainly with Isaac and Erica. He seemed to take a great deal of pleasure in teasing them. Derek, however, did not much appreciate such things.

“My blushing aside, why were you in my bed? As I recall, you had nothing to drink.”

“You, Highness, asked me to stay. As in, to stay in your bed. I obliged, less you throw a tantrum.” Stiles said softly.

Derek felt his heart drop into his stomach. A blush, much like the one Stiles mentioned, creeped across his face. Down towards his neck. He could feel the warmth of it. The realization that he had not only gotten far too drunk, but asked Stiles to stay with him…most of him was mortified.

There was however, another part. A part of the wolf that…reveled in it. The way Stiles’ earthy, masculine scent clung to his linens. The way both of their scents intermingled. Combining together to make something…right.

“I apologize for that.” Derek said sheepishly.

“No need to apologize, Highness. Erica once tried that. Though, I did have to say no on that occasion. Less the palace erupt in even more fetid gossip.”

Derek chuckled at that. Stiles, while seemingly immune to the effects the palace hens, was no less irked by them. The alpha understood that well enough. The way people so idly talked about others. As if there was no pertaining or attached consequences.

“Needless to say, Highness, I think we should be going. One does not keep a queen waiting.”

The alpha mumbles in agreement. Finishing the last fasten on his shoe. Or, at least, he tried. The fabric in his trousers was still stiff from washing. Seeing that he needed help, Stiles kneeled down to do so. And Derek had to think rather hard of other things, less something else get hard on its own.

They leave his chambers. A blush still creeping across his face. The warmth of it making him sweat ever so slightly. Derek had never felt so flustered before. He needed to get himself under control before the meeting. Less his uncle make jokes yet again. Well, more so than he’d already be making. Given that he would be bound to do so. Seeing as he found Derek and Stiles in bed together.

Their private meeting room was in the west wing. A considerable walk from Derek’s quarters in the south wing. Stiles keeps up in stride. Never faltering or seeming out of breath. Once again, the alpha is rather impressed with his stamina.

When they arrive, the guards bare the necks towards Derek. Respectfully opening the door. His parents are as he remembers them. Regal. Composed. Talia and Tobias Hale had ruled their country together for a number of decades now. They were equally respected and feared.

After the events of Kate and Gerard, they withdrew from most of the public eye. They still attended to their duties as king and queen. But the horrors had left them…unsettled. Derek had nearly died in that fight. Which was just as traumatizing to his parents. Derek’s father especially. Who had lost all of his siblings before ascending to the throne.

The others present are who he expects. Peter. Laura. And Cora. As well as several of their country’s top generals, and ministers. Or, in their place, vice-ministers. It was the upper echelon of their country’s leadership. It had been a number of months since they had been together. Derek wondered what this was all about.

“Derek, thank you for coming.”

His mother’s voice was soft, but no less full of authority. He takes a seat across from his father. As he always had. It was a meeting of the most immediate members of their country’s rulers. Which, given the current state of things made sense.

For the most part, the conversation had to do with the reconstruction efforts. The coffers being emptied. Namely, the Argents. Given that the family was responsible for the civil war. But they needed more than that. Given that there were crops that needed replacing atop of livestock. As well as buildings. Realistically, the Argent coffers would be struck bare, and they’d still need more.

The crown, of course, had its own contributions. Derek, Cora, and Laura had all, to an extent, contributed their own resources to the efforts. Derek, being a general, had more than most. His men would be happy to serve wherever he may have chosen to send them. Finance wise, he was a bit better off than his sisters.

The king and queen were also giving what they could. Recovering from a war was no easy task. And given that they had enemies both within and out, they had to be careful to the extent of what they were spending. Derek could think of more than a few foreign generals who would love to take advantage of their current situation.

“Well, that settles the matter of our finances. We can all agree it’s too early increase taxes and tariffs just yet. That just leaves the matter of the thieves.” His father said.

“Thieves?” Laura asked.

“Yes, bandits. To be precise. They’ve been targeting the places that has the lowest manpower. And with it, taking valuable crops and building materials. There have been several local lords asking for assistance.”

Derek could understand that. Lower lords were often undermanned to begin with. Now, with a country in crisis, and bandits on the loose, it made sense that they’d need more. He agrees to spare as many as he can. Which wasn’t all that much. Given that his forces were already being spread thin. The palace saw fewer and fewer guards as of late. And it made Derek nervous.

The meeting concludes with nothing they didn’t already know. And more on their plates than they had before. Derek excuses Stiles. Ordering the man to wait with the betas. What happened next was for royal ears only. Even the ministers excused themselves.

“Well, that was tedious beyond reproach. I thought the Minister of Finance was going to soil himself.” Peter said harshly.

“Quiet brother. Coin is short, and, as of now, it’s the nobility paying the cost. But, eventually, we’ll have to raise taxes. And that never leads to anything pleasant.” His mother snapped.

Talia and Tobias Hale were considered fair and just rulers. That, Derek knew. They were very well received by most of the general populace. The issue, the one they faced now, was that they were recovering from war. War itself cost money. Repairing the damages, even more so. So, naturally, the Minister of Finance would be having a fit.

“Forgive me sister, but we aren’t here to talk about money. At least, not entirely.”

Talia nods softly. Producing an envelope. The kind that Derek hated the most. Nondescript. Devoid of official seal or title. Shadow dealings. Secrecy. The kind of message that was either good or bad. But wholly uncomfortable for anyone to read.

“The king of the Glittering Isles has proposed a trading treaty. As well as a significant alliance. And, of course, a dowry. He’s asking us to marry one our children off.”

Derek felt his stomach sink. He knew, realistically, that this day would come. He was a prince. And an alpha. In his own country, he was considered prime marriage material. As was Laura, heir to the throne. And Cora, third in line. He hated it. The very idea that he was treated like a piece of meat. Now, they had to decide which one of them was going to the butcher.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What a way to end a chapter. Next, SoftStiles. Thanks for reading, and as always, much love.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is just entirely self serving. I will take no criticism at this time.

It was a strange thing. Being in the room that held a country’s rulers. Stiles was unaccustomed to such things. Back home, his father was a man of some importance. But he was far too young to be privy to such meetings. Not that he had any interest in them. As most boys his age had other things on their mind.

But being in the room with all the children of the royal family, the king and the queen, so many of the ministers…it felt surreal in a way. He simply stood there. Melting into the background. Eyes cast towards the floor. Trying his best to ignore everything that was being said, and from whom it was being said by.

In the short time he had been in the palace, Stiles had learned several things about the servants. Namely, they were paid to listen. By staff and other, higher ranking servants alike. Gleaning secrets and tidbits. Shadowy exchanges of coin. He never says anything. Never does anything. (Not that he has any power to do so.)

Strangely enough, no one ever approaches him concerning Derek. Or Isaac. Or Erica. Or Boyd. It seemed, for all intents and purposes, that they were taboo. Stiles had seen and heard plenty whilst in Derek’s employee. He had made a point to forget most of it. Namely, because he was not a gossip. His thoughts lay elsewhere.

He often thought of home. It had been six years now. Six years since he had been taken in a bandit raid. Taken and thrown into a slave market. Eyed and summarized. Sold and re-sold. It was a process. Becoming merchandise. A thing rather than a person. An object.

He thought of his father. The man he had known all his life. Now alone. His only child, gone and away somewhere far from home. With his wife laid to rest, and no one to fill the empty bed. Stiles thought of it often. For the first few years, it would keep him up at night. Wondering and wondering and wondering still. How lonely his father must have been.

Stiles did not know the men that took him. Only that they had taken before, and that they would take again. Beacon Hills was by no means a large or fancy village. In fact, it was simple by standard. At least compared to their neighbors. They had more than most, with Stiles’ father being who he was.

A former knight, and now a lawman, Stiles was expected, to an extent, follow in the man’s footsteps. He had no delusions of being a knight. That took years of practice and more money that he was comfortable spending. Not that it was his money to spend. Then, they came.

It was, of course, in the night. Under the light of a waning moon. Easy. Stealthy. Deadly. They took the women first. Then, the children. Stiles heard his father barking orders to his men. Whilst ensuring that his own son was safe. He had some training with a sword. He was better with a bow. But tonight was not the night.

He fled with the others. Trying to direct them to safety. But, to no avail. He feels someone throw him to the ground. In the dark of the night, he cannot see their face. Only smell the rank of the body, and the gravel in their broken voice. He doesn’t remember much after they put a sack over his head.

The next six years he spent as a slave. Now, he was in the capital. In the employ of the palace. Directly serving the prince and his betas. It was a strange thing. How much one’s life could upheave in just a few moments. Much like it had now.

When Derek had dismissed him, he returned to the man’s quarters. Awaiting his return. Isaac, Erica, and Boyd were elsewhere. Leaving him by himself. Simply to wait. Which, wasn’t all that long. It wasn’t even lunch before Derek returned. Though, he was in a decidedly different mood than when Stiles had left.

The man’s eyes were a dangerous shade of red. Stiles knew that color. He had seen it very rarely. Derek was a rather composed man, but like anyone, he had a temper. Stiles knew this as one and simple thing. Anger. And not the small kind either. Stiles knew that.

The man moves past him without saying so much as a word. Storming into his quarters. Throwing himself own upon his bed. Head down between his knees. Taking deep, heavy breaths. Anger, plain and simple. Stiles knew that feeling rather well.

“Highness….”

“Stiles, you are excused for the day. I will not need you until tomorrow.”

Derek’s tone was firm, and without contest. Whatever anger he was feeling, he was not directing it towards Stiles. But rather, trying to keep it within himself. Away from others. Not knowing what else to do, he left. It was a prince’s order. One that he had no right to refuse.

With nothing left to do, and it being the beginning of the afternoon, Stiles opts to wander about the palace. He had seen much of it since coming to work for Derek. But not nearly all of it. The place was entirely too large for all of that. And there was only so much time in a day. And very little of it was his own.

No one seems to pay him any mind when he walks about. No one asks why he isn’t with Derek, or any of his betas. No questions, no inquiries. For the first time, truly, in six years, he had a moment that was all his own. So, of course, the universe saw fit to rip it from him.

“Malia!”

Peter’s voice booms through the hall. Followed by a thundering of very angry footsteps. The young woman who had greeted Derek and Stiles earlier that morning storms past. Eyes a dangerous red. Great heaving breaths. Much like Derek had entered his quarters with.

Stiles steps to the side. Respectfully bowing his head. Trying to keep himself scarce. Peter trails not far behind. But is stopped by a firm growl from Malia. She looks at the man like is the worst thing to ever walk the face of creation. Like he was scum incarnate. Stiles keeps his eyes fully turned away after that.

“Damn that child of mine.”

Stiles admits that he does find some surprise in the knowledge that Malia is Peter’s daughter. The man was nothing like her, and she nothing like him. He did not understand the depth of the anger she felt towards him. Nor the desperation that Peter held in his voice. It seemed like a tragic thing really.

There was a certain look of misery to the man. A grief beyond words or reason. Stiles knew that look. He had seen it in his fellow slaves plenty of times. The look that all hope had been lost. Lost to shadow and misery. Never to be found again. He knew that look.

“My Lord, if you would be so kind as to follow me.”

Stiles did not know where the words came from. Only that he thought that they were the right things to say. Given that Peter followed him without comment or lecture. There was a place, in the far reaches of the palace. A little place that Stiles had discovered early on. Safe. Away. Hardly used.

It was a small study. With a bountiful amount of books. Wonderful lighting. Given that everything had a small layer of dust on it, hardly anyone ever used it. Not even the maids. So, it was often his little getaway for short periods of time. Private. And while he did not visit it often, when he did, he felt a certain sense of peace.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been to this part of the palace.”

Peter’s voice was somewhat more serene. A little calmer. That desperate look had gone from his eye. Replaced with something just a little bit better. There was a certain light there now. A certain joy. A small thing. A simple thing. Something that Stiles hadn’t seen in himself in a number of years.

There was a small stove with some coal. Stiles lights a fire. Gently heating a pot of water. (Thankfully, there was some present.) When the kettle steams, he makes a pot of tea. The leaves are probably poorer quality than a royal was used to. But it was certainly better than nothing.

“Stiles, why am I here?” Peter asked while sipping his tea.

“Because it’s better than being where you were.”

Stiles did not know much about Peter. He was the brother of the queen. Uncle to Derek, Cora, and Laura. Mischievous and somewhat secretive. Seemingly well-liked by everyone in the palace. But beyond that, he had little to go on. And it was not in his place to question or ask things outside of his station.

“You’re rather observant, aren’t you?”

“No more so than anyone else, sir.” Stiles said plainly.

“How I wish you were nobility. Even a low ranking one. Malia would be much happier here, even with a stranger, than a thousand miles away.”

Stiles did not understand the implication. But in the same moment, he did. He did not understand much about how people in stations like these married. Only that it was very rarely for love. Most often, it was a matter of convincing and money. There were, like many others, whispers about the palace. Derek was the only male child of the king and queen. As well as an alpha. And he had yet to even entertain engagement.

From the tone in Peter’s voice, Stiles understood that Malia was to be married. Not only to a stranger, but one that was many miles away. Away from her family. Away from the life she knew. And while Peter thought it was best for her, he also detested the decision.

“You are a royal sir. Could you not make other arrangements?” Stiles asked.

“One would think. But alas, I am an omega. And therefore, by extension, Malia is seen in a lesser light.” Peter said with a tinge of anger in his voice.

Stiles had heard that term before, omega. It was the same classification as alpha and beta. They were all structures that werewolves held. But each with their own unique functions and purposes. He only knew that alphas lay at the head, and that betas stood by their side. He knew nothing of omegas. Nor why the term sounded so dirty coming from Peter’s mouth.

“You seem rather confused. Am I right?”

“Well, I am human, sir.” Stiles said sheepishly.

“All shifters, but primarily werewolves, fall into three classifications. Alpha, beta, and omega. Alphas lead and rule. Betas support with their devotion and submission. Omegas are, traditionally, caretakers. Female omegas are often used to secure bloodlines. As they have a high rate of successful pregnancy.”

“And male omegas, sir?” Stiles asked quietly. He could see Peter’s face twist ever so slightly.

“Male omegas…Male omegas are peacemakers. The ones that diffuse tension and conflict. But are often seen as the lowest of the hierarchy. We also have a much harder time having children. Even with omega women. Which was why Malia was such a surprise. Especially when she presented as an alpha.”

Stiles could tell that this was an especially sore subject for Peter. And while he felt guilty for pressing, he did want to know more.

“I am the first male omega born in the Hale line in over a century. The men have always been alphas. So, my blood is seen as lesser. As is the blood of my child. And while she may be of royal birth, she is also born to an omega father. Which makes her…tainted. Therefore, very few high ranking families would wish to marry their sons to her.”

Peter’s eyes flashed a dangerous, icy blue. Stiles could practically feel the anger radiating off of him. He was enraged, and Stiles did not blame him. Merely by birth, his child, his only child, had been branded worthless. And therefore, dispensable. Peter was enraged that no one would ever even consider his daughter for anything. And now, the only way to ensure her continued happiness, was to marry her to a complete stranger.

“We’re simple folk back home. People fall in love as easily as they breathe. There’s money and livestock involved of course. But no such political leanings.”

“How does the saying go? ‘For all their wealth, nobles have their own brand of misery.’ How undyingly true that stands in this moment. My only child, the child that I thought I would never have, is going to be sent a thousand miles away. Married to a man neither of us have ever met. To have children I might never meet.”

Peter’s voice began to break. Ever so slightly. It was obvious. Stiles didn’t know what to do.

“Surely the law would allow you to pass down your wealth and titles. Malia is your child by blood.” Stiles suggested.

“Ah, yes. Therein lay the trick. Her mother and I were not officially married. So, in the eyes of the law, Malia is a bastard. Therefore, her right to anything of mine, despite being of my blood, is up for contest. She has neither the wit, nor the will to endure those ravenous bastards.”

“Why not marry the woman, officially I mean? Surely then the law would accept that.” Stiles asked.

“Yet another problem. Malia’s mother died in childbirth. Leaving her with one parent who is, in the eyes of the law, unable to legally claim her. As since the mother is dead, anyone could contest that Malia is not of my blood. So, even if the law recognized her right’s as my bastard, she would still face these fools.” Peter said. His eyes seemed to grow even more dangerous in color.

Stiles, again, had no ideas to what to do. So, he did the first thing that came to mind. When he wraps his arms around Peter, the man freezes. The entirety of his body going still. Rigid as stone. Then, it’s as if every last bit of tension leaves his form all at once.

He melts into the touch. Turning his head into Stiles’ chest. Just resting there. Just resting. He doesn’t know how long he stayed like that. Holding a royal in his arms. Nor how long before Peter gently pulled away. Eyes returned to their natural, calmer color. Stiles was petrified. But in the same moment, he had no regrets to the matter.

“Truly, you are wasted as a servant. And truly, I wish you could marry my daughter. She would seem so much happier with you.”

Stiles doesn’t know what to say. So he just nods as Peter excuses himself. As the man leaves, another thought crawls through his mind. A small, little suggestion. Utterly mad. Devoid of anything close to logic or reason or sense. But it was a good thought. In a way.

When he returns to Derek’s quarters, the man still sits on the bed. Though, his head is no longer between his knees. He simply stares out the window. Watching as the sun creeps closer down towards the horizon. Gold and orange beams gently washing over the carven features of his face. It was beautiful in a way that Stiles did not have words for. Which was a strange thing to think about.

“Stiles, I told you that you were excused for the day. Come back in the…”

He doesn’t give Derek the chance to finish talking. He simply comes behind the man wrapping his arms around the princes’ shoulders. Like with Peter, Derek goes rigid. Stone still and unmoving. And just like Peter, he melts into the touch. Pressing his face into the crook of Stiles’ arms.

It was a strange thing, listening to an alpha werewolf purr. Because he was, in fact, purring. It was strange. Given that any moment Derek could grow fangs and sprout claws, which he could then use to rip Stiles limb from limb. But he does no such things. He just stays there. Breathing ever so softly. As if it was the most perfect place in the world.

When Derek pulls him down onto the bed, Stiles does not resist or offer protest. The alpha simply lays down next to him. Eyes that soft, brilliant hazel green. With little flecks of gold at the edges. Watching Stiles with an intention he could not recognize. The man did not find himself entirely against the matter.

“Stay.”

Like before, it is not a command. It is not an order. But, unlike last time, it is not a plea. There is no desperation in the prince’s voice. But rather, a tinge of hope. Something close to the idea of it. Something that maybe resembled joy or longing. It was difficult to tell. So, he gave the same answer as last time.

“Okay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love some SoftStiles. Next chapter, fluff....Thanks for reading, and as always much love


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fluff and angst, with a surprise ending.

Stiles was warm. Warm and content. There was a comfortable weight atop his chest. A small, delicate pressure. It was…nice. That was simplest word he had for it. He didn’t know what it was, but it felt…good. Though, when he woke up, that feeling did diminish ever so slightly.

He was, once again, in Derek’s bed. On his back with the prince atop his chest. More accurately, Derek was atop his chest, with his nose pressed into Stiles’ neck. Breathing so softly that if felt as if it wasn’t real. There was a jump in Stiles’ heart. A small, quick pang of fear.

Carefully, slowly, he tried to move away. Gently scooting away from the other man. Trying his best as to not to wake him. While Stiles was successful in the matter, Derek did not remain still. The alpha growled low in his throat. Pushing himself further into Stiles. Pulling him closer, holding him tightly.

Strangely enough, Stiles did not resist. Though, part of him was afraid, and rightfully so. He was in bed with the prince. Who, as it so happened, was also an alpha werewolf. There were any number of things that could have gone wrong. Namely, and most worryingly, if the wrong person happened upon them.

Stiles had become somewhat accustomed to life in the palace the routines. The schedules. Familiarizing himself with names and faces. As well as who to avoid. Truly, no one could be considered a friend here. Gossip flowed like water, and drowned just as easily.

There were countless rumors and endless suspicions. Affairs and scandals and temptations. Derek, for the most part, removed himself from that sort of thing. Apart from his duties as a prince and a general, he did not partake in the social niceties of the others that inhabited the palace.

Isaac, Erica, and Boyd were of a similar nature. They kept to themselves and to their alpha. And by extension, the royal family. Knowing that they were prime targets for such things. Stiles, being a servant to them, was not spared on the matter.

So, like the others, he kept to himself, and did not engage in such petty leanings. Nor did he even acknowledge them in the first place. And while he had no doubt that Derek’s betas would keep their mouths shut, one of the chamber maids would not have been so inclined. In fact, he often had the suspicion that someone paid her to report on the comings and goings of Derek’s chambers.

That’s, chiefly, what worried him. Derek having to endure the idle whims and capriciousness of his peers. As well as the countless stories and rumors that they themselves would fabricate in order to amuse themselves. Stiles, for the most part, was unconcerned about himself. He was a servant. Rumors and scandals scarcely affected him most days.

Still…there was a certain, small joy in it. The way that Derek leaned into him. How easily it happened. How easily it all fit together. The way the prince kept himself close. As if it was the most comfortable thing in the world. And even as the worries of what others might say pervert everything, Stiles could not find it in himself to care.

Things got just a tad stranger when Derek pressed himself impossibly closer. The softness of his beard tickling Stiles’ neck. The man couldn’t help but giggle ever so slightly. The sound of it disturbed Derek enough to wake him.

The alpha’s eyes fluttered open ever so softly. That warm, brilliant green that Stiles had no words for. That color that seemed as if it was made by a great master. There was a few, small seconds. A short, incomprehensible amount of time. In which that Stiles nor Derek said anything. That they lay perfectly still and unmoving.

“Good morning, Highness.”

Stiles’ voice was soft and without hitch. Even though his heart had started to race. He felt his face go hot with blush. And, in turn, watched as Derek’s did the same. It was a beautiful thing. Watching his skin turn the barest shade of pink. He couldn’t find the words to describe the feeling. But Stiles knew that he liked it all the same.

“Good morning, Stiles.”

Derek’s eyes were swallowed by their pupils. So wide and deep that Stiles thought he might get lost in them. It was wonderful. Many things about Derek were wonderful. His silent composure. The way he dipped his chin down when he smiled. As if he was slightly embarrassed about it.

The way he treated everyone, servant or noble with respect. And how he did everything with such certainty. Even as the world around him spoke in such vicious tones. There were many wonderful things about Derek. And Stiles didn’t truly understand the fluttering in his stomach. Because, these days, it only seemed to happen around Derek.

“You stayed in my bed again.” The alpha said.

“Yes, Highness. You asked, and I listened.”

“Even though I had excused you for the day, and ordered you not to come back until morning.”

There was no anger or lecturing tones in Derek’s voice. He was merely questioning the choice that Stiles had made. Ignoring the direct order from a prince. Ignoring and even more so, entering his chambers. Embracing him in a way that exceeded the limitations of his station. And yet, Stiles could not find one ounce of him that was willing to offer an apology.

“You have no regard for the fact that I am a prince, do you?” Derek asked.

“No more regard than you have for me as a servant, sir.”

Derek looked at him as if he was the most wondrous thing to walk the face of creation. Stiles didn’t quite know how to feel about that. Not that it mattered all that much. But still, it was a strange feeling. Being looked at in such a fashion. And by one such as Derek. He thought that he wouldn’t feel the same way if it were someone different.

“I think, sir, we should start the day. Don’t you?”

Derek said nothing. Simply nodding his head. Dethatching himself from Stiles. Though, it seemed to pain the man, however slightly, to do so. Once again, Stiles felt a fluttering in his stomach. Though they had only been separated for a few scant seconds, he felt himself feeling a sense of longing. As if he was already craving the sensation again.

He excuses himself and allows Derek his privacy. The prince, even though he had Stiles as a servant, had never once asked for his help in dressing. So, when it came time for that, he simply excused himself. Leaving the man to it. At least, that’s what he tried to do anyway.

This time, he felt his wrist snatched. Pulling him back and holding him in place. Then, warm, strong arms encircling him from behind. Derek pressed his nose right behind Stiles’ ear. Softly breathing. But he could feel the man’s heartbeat through. Pounding in his chest like it was the most frightening thing in the world. But acting like there was nowhere else he’d rather be.

Stiles held perfectly still. Unwilling to move. Mostly, because he could feel a certain sense of desperation coming from Derek. A sense that the man wanted nothing else than what was currently happening. Stiles felt the same. He didn’t really understand why.

“Stay.” Derek’s voice was soft. Softer than it had ever been when he spoke to Stiles.

“Highness?”

“Tonight, I mean. Again. Stay. In my bed. With me.”

There was a certain little thrill that shot down Stiles’ spine. Where he felt a warmth spread in a not so appropriate place. Not in the presence of the prince anyway. He felt oddly uncomfortable, and oddly content in the same moment. Yet, still, there was the earlier fear creeping in the back of his mind.

“I do worry, Highness, what certain people might have to say about that.”

“I find myself rather unconcerned with the opinions of others.” Derek said softly.

Once again, it was a strange thing. The fluttering that Stiles found in his stomach. The way his heart seemed to accelerate. Or the tinge of joy that made its way across his skin. Warming him from the inside. And making him feeling as if every last thing was perfect.

When he leaves, he can still feel the fluttering of his stomach. The warmth that had spread across his skin. It nearly distracts him enough that he forgets to dress properly for the day. When he’s finished, Erica is outside his chambers. Smiling like the devil. Eyes alight with mischief. He knew exactly what she wanted to say. So, he hightailed it out of there.

The she-wolf, damn her, followed hot on his heels, snickering the whole damn time. Stiles, while he enjoyed her company, did not want anything to do with her in this moment. Erica eventually gave up when he made his way to the kitchens. Surrounded by other servants. Other people where she could not speak as freely as she would have liked.

After securing himself breakfast, Stiles made his way back towards Derek’s quarters. (Hoping that Erica was not present.) Thankfully, she was not. Boyd, however, was. Pouring over some manner of documents with the alpha. Talking in low, hushed tones. Something serious then.

Stiles had a habit making sure that he did not bother with the various business that Derek attended to. He was a servant. Such things were above him, and beyond his power. Therefore, staying out of it was only a matter of course. He knew that he was nearly exclusive in this.

He had seen plenty of servants whispering to each other. Not just about idle gossip. Official things overheard in meetings and gatherings. He thought it a dangerous game to play. Given that any one of them could be imprisoned, (or worse), at the whim of any noble who happened to hear.

Derek, realistically, was not that kind of man. He was an alpha, and a prince, and a general. He was not, however, cruel, or overly boastful about his power. Stiles had seen that first hand. That being said, as he was pouring glasses of water for the man and Boyd, he could not help overhear one small detail. One small thing that made his heart leap into his throat.

“So this Stilinski, he’s the one that sent the report?”

Stiles felt his entire body freeze. His hands go numb. Dropping the goblets to the floor. The clatter to the ground. Sounding off like a cannon. He’s shaking now. Shaking so hard that he feels as if he might just faint. It had been years since he had heard someone say his family name. Years and years and years. So long since….

“Stiles!”

Derek’s voice breaks him from his stupor. The world comes back into view. He can feel his heart start to calm. But the alpha is the opposite. His eyes are wide with concern when Stiles turns towards him. Dangerously red. But not with anger.

“Sorry…it’s just…that’s my name. My family name.”

“You’re related to this man then? To John Stilinski?” Derek asked.

Stiles felt his heart speed up again. Because, yes, he was indeed related to John Stilinski.

“He’s my father.”

Derek’s eyes go impossibly wider. More so than seemed humanly possible. Stiles did not know what that meant. But the alpha excused himself. Boyd quick on his heels. He politely ordered Stiles to stay put. Which he abided by.

He sits down on the man’s bed. Trying his best to come to terms with what had just happened. With the shock of it all. With the nature that he had heard his father’s name. That his father was indeed alive and well. His father was alive…

He doesn’t know how long he sits there. Nor how long Derek was gone. But when the man returns, Peter is with him. The two of them share a meaningful look. Something unspoken that Stiles was not privy to. The kind of thing that only happened between men like them.

“Hello, Stiles.” Peter’s voice was small and soft. Unlike him entirely.

“Hello, sir.”

“It seems that there have been some interesting developments. Namely, concerning you. As it turned out, you are the son of a baron.”

Peter places a series of documents in front of him. All bearing official signatures and seals. Stiles didn’t know what any of it meant. Nor what exactly a baron was. But he knew that he was more than likely about to find out.

“It appears, some number of years ago, your father was named baron by a higher ranking lord. And has presided over Beacon Hills for quite a time. Official records state that he has one son. Genim Stilinski.”

“That’s my name, sir.” Stiles said

“Then I assume ‘Stiles’ is some form of nickname, yes? Well, onto other matters. It appears, that you, young man, have quite the story to tell.

He did. And he told it as well. The bandits raid on the village. The madness. The confusion. The sheer and utter chaos of it all. How he was taken. Stripped. Sold as a slave. Passing for market to market. Owner to owner. How he had spent six years of his life in bondage.

Through all of it, Derek and Peter listened intently. Never stopping him. Never interrupting him. Never asking any questions. Stiles told them everything. Every last detail of what six years of his life had been like. At certain points, he saw Derek’s eyes go red. This time, with anger. He did not have to be a genius to figure out as to why.

“My…that’s certainly something. I assume you nothing of the men that took you after raiding your village?” Peter asked.

“No, sir. I…I was just trying to help the others escape. And then I was taken.”

“Well, this certainly explains some things. You are far too educated to be a simple slave. Your father being a baron makes sense. Given that you would have been learned from a young age.” Peter said plainly.

Stiles still didn’t know what a ‘baron’ was. Or why it seemed to matter. All that he cared about was the fact that his father was alive. That he could go home. That he could be with his family again. That he could be…

He felt his gut twist in horror at the realization. He could go home. He could see his father. But that would mean leaving Derek and everyone else here behind. And as much as he missed his home, as much as he missed his family, he liked it here. He liked the palace and Derek…Derek…

There was that fluttering in his stomach again. The one that made his skin go hot and his mind just a little bit fuzzy. He didn’t quite know what this feeling was. Only that Derek was responsible for it. And, if he was being honest with himself, he rather liked it. Much how he liked Derek. He didn’t want to give that up.

“Well, by all considerations, you are technically nobility being the son of a baron. That means you are the inheritor to his house and titles.” Peter said cheerfully.

“Which means…what exactly?” Stiles asked.

“We can figure out the rest after we get you home. Apparently, your father has some pressing information for us. So, we can attend to that along the way.”

Peter excused himself after that. Leaving Derek alone in the room with Stiles. Alone with silence and the pressing weight of shock and his own thoughts. The alpha looked at him with an expression that could only be described as heart breaking. Stiles knew that look. He knew it all too well.

He didn’t want to leave, but at the same time, he did. It had six years since he had seen his father. Six years. Six years since he had slept in his home. Six years since he had seen Scott. Melissa. Lydia. Six years of his life stolen and traded and sold. Six years….

“Highness…”

“Stay.” Derek said interrupting him.

There was no authority behind his voice. Nothing concreate or firm or resolute. Not as a prince. Not as an alpha. Not as a general. The word was as soft as woven silk. And just as precious. Stiles didn’t know what to do with that. Nor with the way it made him feel. He didn’t know what to do with any of this.

“I want you to stay, but I will not order or command you to do so. Never, ever, will I command that.”

“Why? I am a servant. Nothing more.”

Derek seemed to be displeased with that. The way Stiles talked about himself. The ease in which he dismissed his own feelings. He knew because the man walked straight towards him. Eyes a gentle, serene red. Not that kind that came with anger or anxiety. Grief or hardship. No, this was a different color altogether. One that made Stiles’ stomach flutter even more.

The alpha stops just a breath away from him. Carefully looking upwards into Stiles eyes. It was a strange thing. Being taller than the man. Who was both a prince and an alpha. A man who held and commanded both authority and respect. But this…this softness of it. The tenderness of it. Stiles was at a loss for words. Even more so when Derek kissed him.

His lips were soft, and he tasted like spring. Bright and pure and so very unrelenting. Stiles stilled for the smallest of seconds. Then, he leans down ever so slightly. Taking Derek into his arms. Wrapping them gently around his middle.

The alpha slides a hand under Stiles’ tunic. Running his hand along the man’s side. Gently feeling the way the muscles of his torso contracted. It felt elating in a way that he had not yet experienced in this life. A way that he did not have words or feelings to describe. He knew only one thing, and that was that he liked it.

He does not know how long they stay that way. Gently holding each other. Lips pressed in simple embrace. Stiles does not know. Nor could he find it in himself to care all that much. Derek, it seemed, was of a similar feeling.

When they separate, Derek’s eyes are still red. But they are still soft as well. Tender and welcoming. Stiles was not afraid. He had no reason to be. He had every reason to want, or crave more. But this, this moment…for a time, would be enough. Though he did not have any inkling of what could possibly come next.

He had just kissed a prince. And it had been rather wonderful. Part of him wonders what the palace gossipers would say. The stories that they would fabricate. The lies. The insinuations. He also found himself not caring very much. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> God that was a fun way to end a chapter. Next time, Stiles goes home. As thanks for reading, and much love.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Angst. That's pretty much it.

Derek could still feel a slight tingle in his lips. Stiles was…he didn’t quite have the words. Not now anyway. Kissing him had been, more than likely, the bravest thing he had done in a long time. He didn’t know exactly why he had decided to do it. But, in the same moment, he did.

Learning that Stiles was the son of a baron came as quite a shock. To everyone. He had arrived at the palace as a slave. Then, freed. Working as servant. Derek had always been slightly suspicious of his background. Much as Peter had.

The fact that he could read and write was astounding in of itself. There was also the manner in which he spoke. For a commoner, he spoke very eloquently and clearly. There was that. But it was more than that. He was…kind. In a way. Something that Derek could not explain or give reason to.

There was an intelligence to him. Something that most people in this day and age seemed to lack. When Stiles had returned to his chambers, even after being ordered away, Derek was slightly irritated. But when the young man wrapped his arms around him….

Derek felt his entire body go stiff, and then, all at once, melt like it never had before. There was not a way to describe the serenity that he felt in that moment. The bliss. The sheer, unending peace. The way he felt every part of him relaxed. Going down into the bed. Sleeping far better than he had in so many years.

This time he did not have the excuse of drunkenness to abide by. Nor would he search for another. He woke to find himself atop Stiles’ chest. Enjoying the softness of his scent. When he tries to leave, he holds him closer just before he can. That’s when things seemed to go wrong.

Kissing Stiles was not what he regretted. Kissing him knowing that nothing could really ever come of it, however, that, he regretted. Even though Stiles was the son of nobility, (albeit and exceptionally low ranking one), he was still nowhere near the station of being with a prince.

Being a man wasn’t all that much of an issue. He had seen many nobles have lovers of the same sex. (Albeit they were usually rather discreet about the matter at hand.) Derek didn’t see any real issue with the matter. Though, being the man of the station he was, many would.

He had no real idea of what he wanted, or should do next. He was a prince, an alpha, and a general. There was a lot that he could get away with. Taking the son of a baron as a lover, after said son had been in the employ of the palace, may not have been among them.

Furthermore, he wasn’t entirely sure that Stiles was going to stay. He had asked. Just before kissing him, he had asked. Because that’s what he wanted. He wanted the man to stay. He wanted that more than anything. He craved his presence. His scent. His touch.

Derek did not have the words to explain the feeling that had consumed him, nor did he find any reason in seeking them. It wasn’t love, per say. More along the lines of…infatuation. Something that compelled him to seek and know Stiles. More so than he had any real right to. Because, now, the man was going home.

Peter had been rather quick in searching the imperial records. John Stilinski was an average, if somewhat accomplished man. He had been a knight, and fought under his lord’s command. For years of service, he was granted command and control of Beacon Hill’s. A small village to the south.

He was a widower and one child, Genim Stilinski. As it turned out, that child was Stiles. The man had relayed the last six years of his life. Derek tried not to linger on the details. As it did nothing but anger him. What he did linger on, what plagued him more than anything, were the choices that he had to make next.

He leaves the man to make way towards his official duties. Though it pains him greatly. At the moment, he wants nothing more than to take Stiles to bed. Wrap him in his arms and never, ever let him go. He still had to tell the betas. Derek knew that they would not take the news well. Especially Erica.

Peter is in one of their official chambers when he returns. Pouring over maps and all other manner of documents. Beacon Hills, at best estimate, was a week’s journey south by carriage. Four days if they travelled light with nothing but horses. Which Derek was fully willing to do. But princes never travelled without some manner of entourage. And Isaac, as well as Erica, were not accustomed to riding.

“I think it be best that we keep the party as light as possible. Given that you’ll know doubt be travelling with them….”

Peter’s sentence trailed off. Eyes now focusing on Derek rather than on the map. It was a pointed kind of gaze…it said more than it didn’t. He knew that kind of look. Peter, the bastard was notorious for his scheming.

He was more a politician than a military man. And even as an omega, was rather accomplished. Half of it was their family name. The other half was his unbridled wit and cunning. There were very few people that went against Peter and came out on top. Even fewer left standing half the time. Derek had never asked the details of what he did with them.

“Well, given that we know that Stiles is the son of nobility, I _was_ hoping to save him for Malia. But now, it seems, that is no longer going to be possible.”

“And why would that be, uncle?” Derek asked smoothly. Trying desperately to deflect.

What was happening between him and Stiles…he had barely admitted it to himself. There wasn’t any reasoning that he had to admit it to anyone else. Even his own family. Peter, chief among them. But, as he always seemed to be able to do, had managed to figure things out from himself. No doubt smelling Stiles’ scent all over him. Which would have been very hard to explain away.

“Oh, I’m not faulting you for anything, nephew. He’s a fine young man. But I do wonder…If you’re ready to accept what will come when others find out.”

Derek had been thinking about that. Even before he had kissed Stiles. Ever since that first night…when he had been drunk and asked the man to stay…there had been…something. It increased even further the day that he had returned his Derek’s chambers. Comforting him after news of Malia’s impending engagement came to light.

The world was often harsh, cruel, and unforgiving. Especially with the gossip hens in the palace. Who, when given any modicum of an opportunity, would eviscerate the reputation of anyone they could. Derek was unconcerned for himself. He was a prince, an alpha, and a general. There was more to him than they could slander.

But with Stiles…Derek knew that, even with the knowledge that he was, by definition, nobility, he did not have the courage to subject the man to the palace masses. Stiles was…well…Stiles. He was loud and talked too much. Saying too much, and sometimes, not enough. People already whispered about how strange he was. How different. Why someone like him was serving a member of the royal family.

Derek did not know what would happen if they made things the way he wanted them to be. He knew that there would plenty of gossip and rumors. Part of him wanted to shelter Stiles away. To take him somewhere away from the gossiping hens of the palace. Away from their rumors and their scheming. But he knew that could never be true.

Stiles was going him. He was going home and there was nothing that he could do about it.

“The arrangement can be made easily enough. I assume that you and the fabulous trio will be going together. Seeing as they are practically glued to the boy’s side.” Peter said breaking his train of thought.

“Arrange for a small tangent of knights as well. Stiles, Isaac, and Erica aren’t accustomed to combat. It’d be the safest option.”

Peter says nothing. Simply nodding and dismissing himself. Leaving Derek with his thoughts. Which was the last thing that he needed right now. So, tending to better ideas against that prospect, the alpha decided to inform his betas of the matter. Which went over about as well as he had expected.

Erica was furious. Isaac was crestfallen. Boyd, as Derek had expected, remained perfectly silent. But he could tell, deep under the man’s calm, placid humor, he was affected. He didn’t know any other way to tell them, so, he told them the truth. And the truth, did not make anything much better.

Peter returns later that day with a full arrangement of carriages, horses, and knights. As well as their finances. Among other things. Jackson Whittmore would be leading the knights. He was young, but accomplished. An alpha from a good family, and one that Derek respected. They were one of the few nobles who kept themselves to their duties. And not to the otherwise gossiping ways.

Stiles is decidedly nervous the day they leave. Derek can feel the tension radiating from him in waves. The alpha takes the man’s hand. Leading him into the carriage. Isaac, Erica, and Boyd ride with them. They talk about nothing for the first three days.

Peter had meticulously planned their route. There were very few villages in the south that knew Derek’s face. He had mainly kept to the north where the capital was, and the east during his training days. So, that part was well enough taken care of.

The issue, as one always had, was lodgings. Even if the carriages were nondescript, and they dressed well below their stations, certain mannerisms and speech would easily give them away. He was not a fool in such things. Neither was Peter. Thankfully, he had a network of people that could give them shelter for the nights they rested.

The dwellings were entirely ordinary. Nothing overt or special about them. Derek kept his betas in line, and handed each of their lodgers a sizable coin purse. On the last leg of their journey, Stiles is now excited rather than nervous.

As they get closer and closer to Beacon Hills, Derek can see a change in the man. His amber eyes glow with intensity and joy. Something that the alpha wishes to see every day for the rest of his life. It almost helps him forget the ease in which he had with Stiles, and how he might never have that again.

Some nights on their journey, but not every night, Stiles would find his way to Derek’s bed, or, in reverse, Derek to his. They would talk about nothing. Simply content to share the same space. To occupy each other’s company, and little else. Derek had not kissed Stiles since that first night, and even though he greatly desired to do so again, he refrained. He didn’t want their goodbye to be any more difficult.

When they approach the guard gate, Derek calmly steps down. Trying his best to keep his nerves hidden. The man who approaches is young. About Derek’s age. There is a wild tinge of fire to his scent. Something far from human, and much more than wolf. The alpha is cautious.

When he presents his royal seal, the man goes tense. Not afraid, but certainly alert and fully aware of who currently stands in front of him. They are allowed to enter without any form of issue. The fact that Stiles stays seated in the carriage is nothing short of a miracle.

Beacon Hills is exactly as it was described in reports. Modest. Well built. Quiet. There is a small market as Derek enters the town. He can see the fruits of both field and craft alike. There is a slight chatter in the air as they proceed through. While they went with the less garish, and obvious choices in carriages, it is rather obvious that, here, they are someone who has some standing.

The town center is much more paved than he expected. There is a small procession that stands there to greet them. The man that stands at its center is no doubt Stiles’ father. They have the same chestnut hair. Though the man has edges of grey to his. There a lines around his eyes. Coming from both age, and the nature of his profession and talents. A wizened man. Derek found himself somewhat intimidated.

The carriage barely has any time to come to a stop before Stiles goes stumbling out of it. Long limbs nearly buckling with the weight of his excitement. Derek does not bother telling him to stop, nor to restrain himself. This was a reunion six years in the making, and Derek, least of all, was going to stop it.

Stiles barrels over towards his father. Giving the man no time to process even a fraction of what was going on. He finds himself encased in the strong arms of his son. Though, from the look on his face, he does not yet know who is embracing him. Then, in a single moment, a single, unbroken moment, everything clicks together.

“Stiles?”

The question sounds more like a prayer than anything else. A prayer to whatever gods above or below would heed and listen. Because his arms rise from his side. Encasing Stiles in a hug that seemed fiercer than molten iron. That, if he were to let go, for even a second, the man might just vanish into thin air. Derek finds himself wanting to look away.

They stay like that for a time. Derek does not know for how long. It seems attuned to the likes of infinity. They say nothing. Simply holding each other. Ten thousand heartbreaks and ten thousand joys pass in that time. It was more than the alpha could bare.

When they finally separate, when they finally are able to compose themselves, both men have tears in their eyes. It’s a strange thing, seeing a man of John’s station crying. A hardened, experienced soldier. Stiles…he had expected. He still did not seeing the man cry though.

“By all the gods above and below, you’ve gotten tall. What…where have you been all these years?”

“I…it’s a long story, but first, I want you to meet someone. Father, this His Royal Highness, Derek Hale.”

The alpha steps forward with his introduction. Bowing respectfully to the other man. Who, in turn, drops down to one knee. Eyes to the ground. Completely ignoring the son that he had thought dead for the last six years. Derek assures him that it wasn’t necessary, but did suggest that they go inside to speak.

After the formalities were settled, Derek relayed as to why they were here. Which was, in part, because of the information the John wished to share with them. The other, more pressing matter, was Stiles. The young man relayed his story. Piece by piece. Carefully laying out what he had been doing for the last six years. Derek knew that he had omitted certain parts. There were certain things a father should never have to hear about their child.

The man visibly turns red when Stiles mentions the years he spent as a slave. He vibrates with anger at the knowledge that his son had been in bondage. Derek does not blame him, nor does he interrupt. As much as he would have liked to, but this was Stiles’ moment with his father. Even if it was somewhat tainted.

“That certainly explains why we could never find you. And why you never came around again.”

“Stiles endured for six years, but after his purchase by my uncle, he has been in me employ, as a free man ever since.” Derek said firmly.

He wanted the man to understand that Stiles had not been kept as a slave while at the palace. That he was freed the moment Derek learned of the truth. And that he had been regarded as a person ever since. The only fact that they had neglected to mention, was the fact that Stiles was no longer just a simple servant.

Derek had no idea how to bring the subject up. Nor did he have any real desire to do so. What was happening between him and Stiles…He wanted as few people as possible to know. Not that he was ashamed, but because, truthfully, he had no idea how to handle the matter. He was just beginning to think of how to do such a thing when the door slammed open. Literally.

The young man that stood in the doorway was around Stiles age. Sun dark skin. Black hair. And a curiously crooked jawline. That was not the most interesting thing that struck Derek. What did strike him as curious was the fact that the man was a werewolf. More so, he was an alpha. he knew because, upon seeing Derek, and no doubt catching his scent, the man’s eyes turned red. They lunged at each other before anyone could think. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What a fun way to end a chapter. Next, Stiles has a lot of decisions to make. Thanks for reading, and as always, much love.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stiles learns that a few things have changed since his depature from Beacon Hills.

Stiles’ homecoming was all that he had expected and more. When Derek and peter told him that he was going home, that he was going back to Beacon Hills, he could hardly believe it. Six years, six years he had been away. With no knowledge of what had happened or of who had even survived. It weighed on his mind every day.

So when the knowledge came that his father was not only alive, but well, he was overjoyed. He was going home, and part of him, however small, lamented the fact. He was going home, yes. But that meant leaving behind the life that he had built for himself here. It may have only been a few scant months, but he was happy.

He had Isaac, Erica, and Boyd. Even though they didn’t always get along, and didn’t always understand one another. He loved them in a way. They were…friends. If that was the best way he had of putting it. Erica especially, was not exactly thrilled with the idea of him going home. Not in the slightest.

The journey was fair, but quiet. Stiles talked a little of what his life back home was like. How he lived and with whom he shared the world with. His father. A little about Scott and Lydia. He didn’t know why he didn’t speak of them more, but in the same moment, it was perfectly clear.

The last six years had stolen plenty from him. The most painfully glaring thing was his memories. Parts of him died in those six years. And while he had fared far better than others that he had seen, Stiles had lost.

Seeing his father again had been wonderful. Even though he had to explain where he had been for the last six years. And why he was in the employ of the palace. And why he was being accompanied by the prince. Derek explained everything away quite easily. The man neglected to mention their recent ‘entanglement’. Which made plenty of sense.

Stiles himself did not fully understand it. The way that he moved towards Derek. The fluttering in his stomach. The warmth that spread across his skin. The way the two of them, despite the ocean between them, seemed to fit together so perfectly. It was a strange thing to think about. And, at the same time, not so strange at all.

Which is, of course, when things took a turn for the unexpected. Stiles had not seen Scott in six years. Heard nothing, and like with his father, constantly worried about him. Much to his delight, his best friend was alive and well. Much to his surprise, he was a werewolf now. More specifically, he was an alpha.

Some two years ago or so, there had been an attack. Scott fell victim to the alpha that had gone berserk, and thus, had been turned. Stiles’ father and his men managed to put the thing down before it could hurt anyone else. However, given that Scott was the only person that had been turned, that meant the mantle of alpha fell to him.

So, unfortunately, when he had come barging into the house, and came face to face with Derek, things did not go well. More specifically, they had attacked each other on sight. There was only a minor amount of bloodshed before Stiles managed to calm the two of them down. Thankfully. After which, he managed to explain to Scott the circumstances of what had been going on.

After which, he and Derek got along well enough. There was still a lingering sense of tension between the two of them. Derek was both a prince and an alpha, and therefore, was unaccustomed to having his authority so blatantly challenged. Scott, having been turned and there being no one to teach him, was as equally unaccustomed.

Erica took everything to her absolute delight. Having a fit of giggles over what she called Derek’s jealousy. Stiles kindly reminded her that two men mauling each other was, in no way, entertaining. The she-wolf just smiled and pulled him aside. Simply happy to be next to him. Because, at the end of the day, they had no real idea of what would happen next.

The other thing that had surprised him, was Lydia. Stiles had not seen her in six years, and, somehow, in that time, she had grown even more beautiful. He had always been enamored with her. Especially when he was a wee lad. Following after her like a puppy. She largely ignored him. Not out of malice or cruelty, but because she was far too experienced in being the object of other peoples’ affections.

She came from a rather well to do family. They were textile merchants. Trading in wool, cotton, and very rarely, fine silk. They were the only ones in the south that knew how to raise the worms it came from, and even more so, craft the delicate fabric. Given that, they had a fair amount of money and standing.

Stiles, not knowing anything of it at the time, simply found her to be charming and alluring in a way. Apart from her beauty, Lydia’s mind was sharper than sin. A rare trait in their little town. Given that most women came from family’s that could not afford a formal education. Now, she was even more beautiful and even wittier. And yet, Stiles felt himself completely immune to her charms. Given that there was someone else that had no occupied his mind.

He had yet to discuss it with anyone. His affections, for Derek that is. Stiles himself didn’t quite understand them as of yet. The way he felt for the man. Because, deep in his heart of hearts, he did know. The way he felt, the way his stomach fluttered and his face flushed, was rather similar to what he had once felt for Lydia.

There was, as always, a certain strangeness to it all. Feeling such things for another man. Before Derek, Stiles had yet to experience such a thing, but where the alpha was concerned, even though it was strange, it also made sense. Because the way Derek was spoke in ways that the poets of old would weep for.

The other issue that he had encountered, was the man’s possessiveness. He had always seemed somewhat protective over Stiles back at the palace. Even with Isaac, Erica, and Boyd. Who, also for some reason, were oddly tactile. Stiles knew that it had something to do with them all being werewolves. But he didn’t quite understand the true extant of it. He had never felt it his place to ask.

There were lots of things he did not know, but what he did know, was that Derek was unreasonably attached to him. Enough that it had bothered Scott. Who, now being a werewolf, shared in those rather strange inclinations.

As much as Derek touched Stiles, Scott repaid in kind. It almost seemed a game to them. Albeit and extremely competitive one. He largely ignored their posturing until it became a little too much. Stiles had not been home nor seen his family in six years. But between the man of his affections, and his best friends, things felt entirely too stifled. Their posturing became a tad too much.

He storms away from the house after Scott, once again, brushes against him and makes as if nothing is the matter. Stiles, while containing his frustration, simply leaves. Say nothing to either his friend or his father. Which, given his character, was entirely unlike him at all.

He goes towards the river. Stiles always felt a certain kind of peace in this part of Beacon Hills. It was quiet and serene and more than he needed, but at the same time, entirely and completely encapsulating. He loved it, and given that he had not seen it in six years, made things even better.

Time seems to stretch and bend and come to a complete standstill. Such things did not matter here. The world drifted away along with his thoughts. The peace of his mind filled his body. Allowing him to relax for the first time in quite a while.

He doesn’t know how long he has with his thoughts before Scott joins him. The other man says nothing. Simply sitting down beside Stiles. Gazing off into the distance. Eyes reaching a place that neither of them really wanted to go. It was a piercing silence. One that said more than it didn’t.

“I’m sorry.”

Scott’s words were as soft and as precious as woven silk. As temperamental and as aggressive as he had been since meeting Derek, this was different. All the werewolf and alpha nonsense aside, he meant what he said. He meant it dearly. Stiles, while fully appreciative of the sentiment, was no less aggravated.

“I am not a possession. I do not belong to either of you. You are my friend and I love you, but I do not belong to you.”

“It’s just…the wolf sees a challenge. You go missing for six years and when you come back…why did it have to be an alpha? That made things so much worse.” Scott said dejectedly.

“I don’t really see the difference, Scott.”

“It’s just…I don’t know how to explain it. There isn’t anybody to teach me this stuff. I’ve been flying blind for two years now. Being a werewolf is hard.”

“Then, perhaps, you should try putting your ego aside, and talking to one of Derek’s betas. Or, even better, Derek himself. They have experience with this kind of thing.” 

Scott made a face. The kind of face he used to make when they were younger. The kind he made when he knew Stiles was right, but didn’t want to admit it. After all these years, it hadn’t changed, and it still made Stiles laugh. Even though what was currently at hand wasn’t really a laughing matter.

“Not Derek…that wouldn’t help anything. Maybe Isaac. He seems nice.”

This time, Scott made another face. Stiles knew this one as well. It was the face that Scott made when he was enamored. He’d always been a rather terrible liar. Whether he was speaking the lie, or trying to keep a straight face, it was just terrible all around.

But, being the gentleman that he was, Stiles did not tease or goad his friend about it. His potential affections were his own, and Stiles himself was still sorting out things with Derek. Whatever it was that needed sorting anyway. Because, still, he didn’t quite understand all of it.

When he returns back to the house, no one is home. At least, he thinks no one is. Until he can hear footsteps quickly approaching. Those thundering steps could only belong to one person. Derek. Stiles, having known what was coming next, turned to face forward.

“No.”

Whether it was his tone, or the simplicity of what he had said, Stiles didn’t know, but Derek stopped dead in his tracks. Standing just over a foot away from Stiles. A somewhat shocked and confused look on his face.

“As I just finished telling Scott, I do not belong to either of you. So this contest that you’ve made for yourselves, it stops. Now.”

Derek whined, actually whined, like a bereaved child. It was a strange thing to hear from such a man. A prince. A werewolf. An alpha. Stiles did not know exactly what to make of it. Much like he didn’t know what to make of much of the man these days.

“I…what if you did? Belong to me, I mean.” The man asked.

“I am not property, Derek.” Stiles didn’t know why he had suddenly to stop using the proper address, and calling the man by his name. But, in truth, he didn’t seem to mind it.

“No, not as property. Not as something anything like that. I want you to be _mine._ ”

The inflection on the word was not lost on Stiles. It took him the barest of seconds to understand what Derek had meant when he said it. He didn’t want Stiles to belong to him in the traditional sense. He wanted Stiles to belong to him in the romantic sense. Which was staggering enough to think about. He hardly had time to consider it before Derek stepped forward, kissing him.

Unlike last time, there was a certain edge to it. A certain roughness to it. A certain possessiveness. Derek did want Stiles to be his. Just not in a competitive way. In a way that they belonged to each other rather than to a singular. Along with the kiss, it was a rather enticing idea. At the very least, Stiles’ cock thought it was.

Derek wraps his arms around Stiles’ middle. Pulling him closer. Their chests pressing together. Tight enough that he could feel the alpha’s heartbeat. Smell the rich, earthy tones of his scent. It filled his nostrils and made his skin flush with heat and arousal.

Stiles does not know how long they stay like that. He does not know and he does not care. Neither does Derek for that matter. When they separate, it is only just. The alpha’s face is flushed, and his breathing heavy. Stiles can feel the heat that had started in his cheeks spread down to his groin. Where a most uncomfortable tightness hard started to form.

“Your, room. Now.”

Derek’s voice was more of a growl. Stiles did not know how much of the man’s wolf was in control and how much of the man was. It did not seem to matter all that much. As he found himself moving before he could even think. Right behind Derek’s tail.

When the reach the room, the alpha slams the door shut, and then, with just a touch of grace, pins Stiles against it. The other man bites his lip to keep from making any uncouth noises. That was significantly harder when Derek tactlessly ripped is tunic away. Exposing the full expanse of Stiles’ chest.

Stiles didn’t have time to think before he found his arms pinned above his head. The alpha kissing him with a kind of restrained ferocity. He doesn’t move or try to resist Derek’s hold. He just kisses the man back. Trying to stay calm, and keep his breathing even. Which was made much harder when the alpha buried his nose in Stiles’ underarm and just _breathed_.

“Fuck, the way you smell. You have no idea, Stiles.” Derek’s voice grew lower and deeper by the minute.

“I take it you like the way I smell then?” Stiles’ asked sheepishly.

“I most certainly do. Now, I wanna see how you taste.”

Stiles did not have any time to ponder what Derek had meant by that before the alpha ripped his trousers to pieces. Leaving him covered in rags, and his cock fully exposed. There was only a small tinge of embarrassment. Derek growled low in his throat. Taking Stiles in his hand. Stroking him slow and softly.

Stiles had never been touched like that before. It sent a tingle down his spine, and a low moan passed over his lips without him meaning to. Derek seemed encouraged by it. The man dropped to his knees. Still holding Stiles’ cock in his hand. Lifting it up, the man buried his tongue into the man’s sack. Licking and sniffing. Fully engrossing himself. Stiles bit the back his hand to keep himself quiet.

“Don’t do that. I wanna hear all the pretty noises you make when I put your cock in my mouth.”

Stiles simply nods as the alpha takes the head of his cock in his mouth and just _sucks_. He can’t help the screech that escapes nor can he help the fact that his hips thrust forward. Pushing more of him down Derek’s throat. The alpha doesn’t seem to care all that much as he rumbles with satisfaction. Eagerly taking Stiles all the way down to his groin.

He pauses there. Inhaling Stiles’ scent before he continues. Working his cock with an unrestrained enthusiasm. He grabs the back of the alpha’s head. Burying tense, tight fingers into the man’s hair. A silent plea for him not to stop. For him to keep going.

When Stiles comes, it’s with a force he hadn’t experienced, nor one that he had expected. His legs tense. His toes curl. And he fucks into Derek’s mouth. Spilling his seed down the other man’s throat. The alpha doesn’t seem to mind all that much. As he sucks down even harder than before. Milking Stiles through the rest of his orgasm.

Stiles had not time to recover before Derek his back on his feet. Teeth around his neck. Holding him still. He does not move, as the alpha silently requested. He is not afraid. When his breathing calmed, Derek began to rut against the seam of his thigh. Pressing his throbbing cock into Stiles’ flesh. Seeking sweet, blessed friction.

It doesn’t take Derek long to find his own orgasm. Spilling himself all over Stiles’ thigh, groin, and torso. All the while, he never releases Stiles neck from the grip of his fangs. When they both managed to calm down, they separate for the briefest of moments. Kissing each other softly and sweetly. Stiles found his cock was still rock hard and more than willing to go for more than Derek had already given him.

“Mine.”

The word was not said out of jealousy. Nor or greed. Nor of narcissistic possessiveness. It was an affirmation. That, in this moment, Stiles belonged to Derek. Not as property. Not as an object. Not as an item for amusement. But his. So, Stiles takes ahold of the man’s buttocks. Pulling him closer, deciding to return the favor.

“Mine.” Derek smiled as wide as Stiles had ever seen him. Then, he turned his eyes towards Stiles’ bed. They didn’t leave for two days.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What a great way to end a chapter. Next, Stiles learns that being with a prince can attract some...unwanted attention. Thanks for reading and much love.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Smutt, that's it. Just smutt.

Derek was at war with himself. Namely, and chiefly, because of Stiles. Over the past few months, he had grown closer to the man. Ever considering the ramifications of that closeness. The way they gravitated towards one another. The way that they seemed to always fit into place. The way that he felt like pack more than his own betas did.

Isaac, Erica, and Boyd all loved the man. Isaac seemed to break out of his shell more. Erica was even more vivacious. Boyd, ever stern, seemed to smile more these days. Derek, even among everything else, found himself smiling as well. That’s just was the way Stiles was. He seemed to make everything…brighter.

Which was why, after meeting Scott, Derek seemed to take an entire one-eighty. He felt an intense, unyielding, desire to protect Stiles. He was not an aggressive or angry alpha. But upon seeing Scott, Derek’s wolf saw red and he lost any semblance of control. They had nearly torn each other to pieces. Until Stiles stepped between the two of them.

Things calmed down after that. In the sense that Scott and Derek no longer attempted to maul each other to death on sight. However, it did start of fiercely competitive streak between the two of them. Derek had considered Stiles pack early on. As did the others. Upon Scott’s arrival, and subsequent reveal as an alpha werewolf, things got heated.

It felt like a competition. To which one of them Stiles belonged to. And, in a sense, at least one that was common to werewolves, Stiles belonged to Derek. His employment aside, Derek considered him to be a pack member, and, given the most recent developments, something more than that. Something more indeed.

Derek felt oddly protective and downright possessive of Stiles. He hated to find Scott’s scent on the man. And, when every opportunity arose, would thoroughly cover Stiles in his own. Which of course, led to Scott retaliating and doing the same. It was a never ended contest. That is, until, Stiles decided to put an end to it for the both of them. His had reached the limit of his patience.

When Derek had approached him, when he tried to mark the man as pack again, Stiles had clearly and firmly said ‘no’. It was such a shock that he stopped dead in his tracks. Stiles was not passive nor submissive, but still, Derek did not expect it. He did, however, respect it.

Pack was not pack without consent. True, informed consent. An alpha marking a beta or omega without their consent, an alpha forcing their submission means nothing. It wasn’t a pack. It was simple a group of people under the thumb of another. Which Derek loathed and despised with all his being, and he, in no way, ever wanted to be that kind of alpha.

Yet, the sheer _yearning_ that he felt was indescribably powerful. The sheer _want_ to cover Stiles in his scent. To kiss him. To _taste_. But he could not do it. Until he could. Stiles said that he wasn’t property. That he did not belong to anyone. Not to Scott. Not to Derek. But that was the thing. Derek wanted Stiles to belong to him. Just not in the traditional sense of pack.

When he kisses him, Derek could feel his wolf howl with maddening joy. It was more aggressive than it should have been, but Stiles kissed him back. The alpha wrapped his arms around the other man. Pulling him closer. Pressing their chests together. It was wondrous beyond measure.

Derek pulls Stiles towards his room. Nearly smashing the door as he closes it. As soon as they had any semblance of privacy, the alpha felt himself start to lose control. He doesn’t bother to properly undress Stiles. Derek simply rips the irritating fabric away from the other man’s form. He is more than pleased with what he sees.

Stiles is not overly lean, but rather, lean with years of labor. Tight chest, and taught abdomen. Both heaving with great breaths. Skin flushed ever so pink as his heart pounded furiously with excitement. Derek could smell it. That soft tinge of musk. It was pleasurable beyond comprehension. Even more so, when he took the man’s cock in hand.

He was not overly large. Nor thick. Derek had seen plenty of men naked in his days training as a soldier. But Stiles was beautiful. Flushed red leaking at the tip. Excited and bucking into the alpha’s touch. Trying his best to keep silent. Derek assured him that he wanted no such thing. He honestly didn’t care who heard.

When he takes Stiles into his mouth, the man damn near sings. He can feel his wolf grumble with hunger and delight in equal measure. Stiles is not a quiet person, and despite his best efforts, the man moans and breathes and fucks ever so slightly into Derek’s mouth.

He simply keeps his cock nestled. Intent on bringing Stiles the pleasure he so desired. When the man’s finds his orgasm, Derek does not move. He simply swallows the man all the way down. Keeping him there. Tasting the sheer depth of him.

Stiles breathed like a man running for his life. Derek does not give him time to settle or relax. The alpha stands back up, gently gripping Stiles by his throat. Fangs gently pressing into flesh. Keeping him still and soft. The other man is not afraid.

The alpha ruts his aching cock against the man’s thigh. Desperate and whining. Like a pup going through his first rut. He is careful not press into Stiles’ throat any harder as he chases his release. When it finds him, Derek’s body nearly keels over with the sheer force of it. Marking Stiles with his seed. So that no one would ever mistake that he belonged to the alpha.

“Mine.”

The word is gruff and borderline animalistic. It had been some time since Derek had been this close to the edge of his control. Yet, even still, Stiles was not afraid. Nor discomforted. Nor unhappy. He simply smiled that smile. The one that was warm and true and unwavering.

“Mine.” The other man replied.

In that moment, Derek damn near howled with joy. He had claimed Stiles, and Stiles, in turn, had claimed him. It was an intensely gratifying feeling. One that did nothing to calm his wolf. He was still grumbling with dissatisfaction. Wanting more than Stiles had already given. Thankfully, Derek was a man as well as a wolf.

By good fortune, Stiles’ room was equipped with a small wooden tub, and, also fortunate, that tub had been filled with water. It was colder than a winter sunrise, but it managed to do what Derek wanted done. Which was to clean Stiles.

The alpha had made a right royal mess of and over the man. There was a modest assortment of simple soaps and lightly scented oils. He could feel his wolf grumble with displeasure at removing any part of his scent from Stiles. But, even as dissatisfied as that part of him was, they were not animals. They were not going to behave like them either.

The other man is relaxed and pliant. Willing to let Derek run a linen cloth over him. Carefully soothing tender skin made somewhat raw from the alpha’s teeth and claws. He hadn’t been as careful as he had thought. While there were no actual wounds, there was a bit of redness and brightened flesh. Derek made a note to himself to be much more careful moving forward.

They lay like that for a while. Simply content to enjoy the feel of each other’s bodies. Though, that calmness did not last very long. Derek could feel his loins start to stir not long after they had finally managed to get some rest. Thankfully, Stiles seemed to share in his enthusiasm.

The alpha reins in his wolf. Carefully opening the man’s hole with gentle, oiled fingers. All the while sucking down his cock. Enjoying the full, unrestrained orchestra of noises that Stiles makes. It was beautiful. The way his faced flushed. The way his chest heaved up and down with great breaths. Trying, desperately trying to hold on for dear life. Hands buried in the tangle of Derek’s dark hair.

When the alpha finally calms himself down enough, and thinks that Stiles is relaxed enough, he eases himself inside the other man. Slowly. So slow it could have been considered torture. He lets out a breath he didn’t realize that he had been holding. Stiles’ long legs wrap around him. Pushing him further. Derek snaps at his wolf, keeping his most basic instincts under wraps.

He fucks into the other man with restrained enthusiasm. Not wanting to hurt him. Not wanting to make the experience unpleasant. It seemed, that, despite the edginess of his control, Stiles seemed to enjoy himself. He buried his face into Derek’s neck. Breathing heavily and muttering so low that even the alpha had a difficult time understanding what he was saying. He just continues to fuck into the other man. Holding him as closely as he can. Both their bodies becoming slick with sweat.

When the alpha finally comes, it is as quiet as he could make it. He empties himself inside of Stiles. The other man clenching around his cock. The alpha holds Stiles and breathes like a man devoid of strength. His wolf howls in triumph, but still feels unsatisfied in the entirety. It wanted more and it wanted it now.

Thankfully, Derek had the good sense to ignore that, and simply kissed Stiles softly. Enjoying the way his lips tasted, and the way his fingers traced gentle circles into his back. It was more comforting than he had words for. More so than he could ever express. So, the alpha was just content to lay there.

They bathe each other again. Softly and slowly. Cleaning the messes of passion away. Gently slathering each other in floral scented oils. Stiles, normally smelling like the forest already, smelled even better. Especially since he now carried Derek’s scent over him. The alpha felt a primal kind of pleasure in the act of marking him, as well as the man being so receptive of the act. His wolf felt sated. At least, it did for a brief time.

They sleep peacefully, and soundly. Curled around one another. Content and comfortable. The next morning, they wake to find a platter of food and water. Which they readily devour. Derek had not realized that neither of them had eaten before heading towards Stiles’ room. But after the food was finished, his wolf awoke, and with it, came the shaky control he had been fighting.

His eyes were the first to shift. He could feel it. A deep, hungry red. Stiles barely has time to think before the alpha had him pinned on the bed. Arms above his head. Legs splayed for Derek to savor and enjoy. He swallows the man down eagerly, and without anything that could ever be considered restraint. The alpha comes untouched just from the sensation of Stiles finishing in his mouth.

After that, his control fell out of the window. His gums sting with the emergence of his fangs. His fingers burn as his claws protrude and make themselves known. Even then, Stiles did not seem to be afraid. Even when Derek suggested that the other man leave. Even when the alpha felt himself slip further into his wolf, Stiles stayed.

He gently lowered Derek down onto his stomach. Where his mouth full of fangs and clawed hands would be out of the way. The alpha felt raw and exposed. So on edge that the world seemed to spin and spin and spin. But Stiles stayed. He stayed. Rubbing gentle circles into the man’s back. A gentle, soothing motion that put him at ease.

When he moves down towards the cleft of Derek’s ass, the alpha tenses. He had only a scarce number of lovers. Kate aside, he never had anyone touch him there, but he trusted Stiles. He trusted him, and knew that he would not take advantage of him.

The first slip of the man’s tongue across the alpha’s hole damn near sends him into the headboard. Derek grips the sheets with unrestrained ferocity. Tearing into the fabric. Stiles, taking that as a good sign, pressed his face further into the man’s ass. Licking and nipping. Gently but diligently opening the alpha. Stiles retires briefly to fetch a vial of oil. Gently slipping a lubricated finger along with the return of his tongue. Derek damn near lost his mind.

It seemed to go one forever. Stiles working over his hole with enthusiasm. All the while Derek whined and moaned. Desperately trying to keep still. Eventually, his control slipped, and he grabbed the back of Stiles’ head. Pressing him further in. Wordlessly ordering to not stop. Stiles doesn’t and keeps opening the alpha up until his hole is fully relaxed.

Derek bites down on his lips when Stiles kisses the back of his neck. He damn near howls when he feels the head of the man’s cock at his entrance. The other man wraps around the alpha’s chest. Gently pulling them together. Slowly slipping his cock into Derek.

The first thrust is gentle and soft and oh so deliciously sweet. Stiles is patient. Derek, however, is not. He feels his wolf rumble with displeasure, and fucks himself backwards onto the man’s cock. Stiles, taking the hint, fucks into him harder. Faster. Speeding up his pace until he’s fully mounted the alpha.

Derek whines and moans. Like a bitch in heat. So desperately unhinged and damn near feral. He wished that he could reign in his wolf. If only just his claws. The alpha desperately wanted to touch himself. Stiles, noticing his desperation, takes his throbbing erection in hand. Gently pulling in time with his thrusts.

When he manages to come, Derek can feel his entire body tense, and then go lax. Stiles finds his own release seconds later. Emptying himself inside the alpha. He can actually feel it. The way the other man’s cock pulses and spurts inside him. His wolf howls with maddened joy. He had claimed and marked Stiles. Now, Stiles had claimed and marked him. They had mated.

Stiles, having spent himself, essentially collapses atop of Derek. Cock still hard inside, but too tired to do much of anything about. So, Derek having not been fully sated, flips Stiles onto his back. He briefly whine as the man’s cock slips from his hole, but quickly rectifies it by seating himself on the man.

His wolf was still unhinged to the point to where his claws and fangs were still present. So, he took things slowly. Gently rolling his hips. Slowly. Carefully. Trying to keep his hands away from Stiles. Away from that delicate, tender skin.

The other man, seemingly unconcerned with his own safety, sits up from laying down. Bring Derek backwards. Meeting him face to face. There is a brief, unyielding moment where neither of them move. They barely breathe. Then, Stiles kisses him. Softly. Tenderly. Carefully maneuvering around his fangs. Derek wraps his arms around the other man. Mindful to keep his claws out of the way.

They fuck like that. Bodies wrapped around each other. Derek throbbing cock pressed and leaking on Stiles’ belly. Rubbing against the plains of the man’s stomach as he continued to roll his hips. Seeking that blessed feeling again.

Stiles once again empties himself inside Derek, and the alpha spills himself over the other man’s stomach. The scent of their sex is overwhelming and the alpha can hardly contain his wolf, but he persists. Unwilling to behave like an animal. Stiles was not a werewolf, and would not exactly appreciate the things that Derek wanted to do to him. At least, not all of them anyway.

After they managed to calm down, (Derek more so), using what little water and linens they have left, they clean each other. Slathering there still glowing forms in the last of the oil. Part of Derek was crestfallen. They couldn’t do much of anything else without the oil. Though, he did have the mind to take Stiles into his mouth again. Just because he could.

The other man was the sense of reason. Kindly reminding the alpha that they could not stay cooped up in the room for days on end. There were other things to attend to. Derek, and his wolf, both whined like a bereaved child. But, nonetheless, he understood that, despite his loins already wanting to go at it again, he was still a prince, and was here on official business.

When they are finally clean and dressed, they emerge to meet something of a reception. Scott, Stiles’ father, and his friend Lydia are all present. Each of them has a different reaction to their presence.

Scott’s face twists in a fashion that could only be described as displeasure. Though, given how heavily he smelled of Isaac, (which Derek would address at a later time), the man certainly had no room to complain or make any comments on the matter.

Lydia’s eyebrows went up to her forehead. There was a slight, cheeky grin splashed across her face. for some unknown reason, the woman was highly amused. And, no doubt, would be asking Stiles numerous details at a later date. Derek dreaded the thought of the matter.

The most shocking, and in the same moment least surprising, was Stiles’ father. The man was entirely placid and calm. Despite the fact that his son had been having passionate sex with another man, and a prince at that. But given the circumstances, there was something else to his expression. Something beyond a reaction to what Stiles and Derek had been doing.

There was a cold, steel sharpness to it. A severity. One which was answered when he handed Derek a small, sealed envelope. It bore the royal seal. So it was either directly from his family, or someone in their service. Part of him froze at the idea of what it could be in regards to. His fears were answered as he read its contents.

“Peter’s been poisoned.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That was fun to write, and as usual, I whip out the cliffhangers when you least expect. Next chapter, consequences. Thanks for reading, and as always, much love.

**Author's Note:**

> What a way to start. Next chapter, Derek. And all his brand of orneriness.


End file.
